3  1822  01228  6597 


PETi 


LIBRARY 

UNlVilUiTY  Of 

8AMOKOO 


3   1822  01228  6597 


U.S 


"WHAT  A  WOMAN!    YOU'RE  BRAVE— i.ih 

LIKE — TO    LIVE— TO    SERVE   YOU    FURTHER.' 


A    MAN.     YOU    CAME   BACK.      I'D 


THE   LONG 
CHANCE 

BY 

PETER   B.   KYNE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

FRANK  TENNY  JOHNSON 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPTMOHT,  1914,  BT 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGB  <fc  COMPANY 

AIX  EIGHTS  RESEttTED 


PRINTED  IT*  THB  CXITED  8TATBS 

AT 
THH  COUNTET  LIFB  PRBSS,  GARDEN  CTTT,  N.  T. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  sunrise  on  the  Colorado  desert. 
As  the  advance  guard  of  dawn  emerged  from  be 
hind  the  serrated  peaks  to  the  east  and  paused  on 
their  snow-encrusted  summits  before  charging  down  tho 
slopes  into  the  open  desert  to  rout  the  lingering  shadowy 
of  the  night,  a  coyote  came  out  of  his  den  in  the  tumbled 
malpais  at  the  foot  of  the  range,  pointed  his  nose  skyward 
and  voiced  his  matutinal  salute  to  the  Hosts  of  Light. 

Presently,  far  in  the  distant  waste,  seven  dark  objects 
detached  themselves  from  the  shadows  and  crawled  toward 
the  mountains.  Like  motes  swimming  in  a  beam  of  light, 
they  came  out  of  the  Land  of  Nowhere,  IP  the  dim  shim 
mering  vistas  over  west,  where  the  gray  line  of  grease- 
<vood  met  the  blue  of  the  horizon.  Slowly  they  assumed 
definite  shape;  and  the  coyote  ceased  his  orisons  to  specu 
late  upon  the  ultimate  possibility  of  breakfast  and  this 
motley  trio  of  "desert  rats"  with  their  burro  train,  who 
dared  invade  his  desolate  waterless  kingdom. 

For,  with  the  exception  of  the  four  burros,  the  three 
men  who  followed  in  their  wake  did,  indeed,  offer  the  rare 
spectacle  of  variety  in  this  land  of  superlative  monotony. 
One  of  the  men  wore  a  peaked  Mexican  straw  hat,  a  dirty 
white  cotton  undershirt,  faded  blue  denim  overalls  and  a 
pair  of  shoes  much  too  large  for  him;  this  latter  item  in 
dicating  a  desire  to  get  the  most  for  his  money,  after  the 
invariable  custom  of  a  primitive  people.  He  carried  a 
peeled  catclaw  gad  in  his  right  hand,  and  with  this  gad 


io  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

he  continually  urged  to  a  shuffling  half-trot  some  one  of 
the  four  burros.  This  man  was  a  Cahuilla  Indian. 

His  two  companions  were  white  men.  The  younger  of 
the  pair  was  a  man  under  thirty  years  of  age,  with  kind 
bright  eyes  and  the  drawn  but  ruddy  face  of  one  whose 
strength  seems  to  have  been  acquired  more  from  athletic 
sports  than  by  hard  work.  He  wras  tall,  broad-shouldered^ 
slim-waisted,  big-hipped  and  handsome;  he  stepped  along 
through  the  clinging  sand  with  the  lithe  careless  grace  of 
a  mountain  lion.  An  old  greasy  wide-brimmed  gray  felt 
hat,  pinched  to  a  "Montana  peak,"  was  shoved  back  on 
his  curly  black  head ;  his  shirt,  of  light  gray  wool,  had  the 
sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbow,  revealing  powerful  forearms! 
tanned  to  the  complexion  of  those  of  the  Indian.  He 
seemed  to  revel  in  the  airy  freedom  of  a  pair  of  dirty  old 
white  canvas  trousers,  and  despite  the  presence  of  a  long- 
barreled  blue  gun  swinging  at  his  hip  he  would  have  im 
pressed  an  observer  as  the  embodiment  of  kindly  good  na 
ture  and  careless  indifference  to  convention,  provided  hia 
own  personal  comfort  was  assured. 

The  other  white  man  was  plainly  an  alien  in  the  desert. 
He  was  slight,  blonde,  pale — a  city  man — with  hard  blue 
eyes  set  so  close  together  that  one  understood  instantly 
something  of  the  nature  of  the  man  as  well  as  the  urgent 
necessity  for  his  thick-lensed,  gold-rimmed  spectacles.  He 
wore  a  new  Panama  hat,  corded  riding  breeches  and  leg 
gings.  He  was  clean-shaven  and  sinfully  neat.  He  wore 
no  side-arms  and  appeared  as  much  out  of  harmony  with 
his  surroundings  as  might  a  South  American  patriot  at  a 
Peace  Conference. 

"I  say,"  he  began  presently,  "how  much  further  is  it 
to  this  prospect  hole  of  yours,  if,  indeed,  you  have  a  pros 
pect  as  you  represented  to  me  a  week  ago  ? ' ' 

His  tone  was  fretful,  peevish,  complaining.  One  would 
readily  have  diagnosed  the  seat  of  his  trouble.  He  had 
come  prepared  to  ride — and  he  had  been  forced  ta  walk. 

The  young  man  frowned.    He  seemed  on  the  point  of 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  it 

swearing,  but  appearing  to  think  better  of  it,  he  repKed 
banteringly,  "For  ahi.  For  alii." 

"What  in  blazes  does  that  mean?" 

"Oh,  I  was  just  talking  the  language  of  the  country — 
a  language,  by  the  way,  toward  which  you  seem  most  in 
differently  inclined.  'For  ahi'  means  'a  considerable  way/ 
'a  right  smart  piece,  I  reckon,'  and  conveys  about  the  same 
relative  amount  of  definite  information  as  manana.  Never 
having  measured  the  distance  to  my  prospect,  I  have  tried 
for  the  past  two  days  to  give  you  an  approximate  idea. 
But  in  this  country  you  must  know  that  distance  is  a  de 
ceptive,  'find  X'  sort  of  proposition — so  please  refrain 
from  asking  me  that  same  question  every  two  miles.  If 
the  water  holds  out  we'll  get  there;  and  when  we  get  there 
well  find  more  water,  and  then  you  may  shave  three  times 
a  day  if  you  feel  so  inclined.  I'm  sorry  you  have  a  blis 
ter  on  your  off  heel,  and  I  sympathize  with  you  because  of 
your  prickly-heat.  But  it's  all  in  the  day's  work  and  you'll 
survive.  In  the  meantime,  however,  I  suggest  that  you 
compose  your  restless  New  England  soul  in  patience,  old 
man,  and  enjoy  with  our  uncommunicative  Cahuilla  friend 
and  myself  the  glories  of  a  sunrise  on  the  Colorado  desert." 

"Damn  the  sunrise"  the  other  retorted.  He  would  have 
damned  his  tormentor  had  he  dared.  "I  do  not  wish  to  be 
insulted." 

"Listen  to  that  coyote,"  replied  the  careless  one,  ignor 
ing  his  companion's  rising  anger.  "Listen  to  him  yip. 
yapping  over  there  on  the  ridge.  There  sits  a  shining  ex 
ample  of  bucolic  joy  and  indifference  to  local  annoyances. 
Consider  the  humble  coyote,  Boston,  and  learn  wisdom. 
Of  course,  a  coyote  doesn't  know  a  whole  lot,  but  he  does 
recognize  a  good  thing  when  he  sees  it.  His  appreciation 
of  a  sunrise  is  always  exuberant.  Ever  since  that  coyote's 
been  big  enough  to  rustle  his  own  jack-rabbits  he's  howled 
at  a  lovely  full  moon,  and  if  he's  ever  missed  his  sun-up 
cheer  it's  because  something  he  ate  the  night  before  didn'1 
agree  with  him." 


12  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Sir,"  snapped  the  irascible  one,  "you're  a  trifler. 
Ton  're — you  're — a — ' ' 

"Say  it,"  soothed  the  student  of  nature. 

"Oh,  damn  it,"  rasped  his  victim,  "talk  business.  This 
is  a  business  trip,  not  a  rehearsal  for  a  comic  opera.  Talk 
sense. ' ' 

"Well,  all  right — since  you  insist,"  drawled  the  other, 
smiling  brightly.  "In  the  first  place,  after  this  morning 
you  will  permit  your  whiskers  to  grow.  Out  here  water  is 
too  precious  to  waste  it  shaving  every  morning.  I  sug 
gested  that  point  last  night,  but  you  ignored  my  polite 
hint.  I  hate  to  appear  boorish,  but  I  must  remind  you  that 
these  jacks  are  mine,  that  the  four  little  kegs  of  water  that 
they're  carrying  are  mine,  that  this  mozo — 1  beg  your  par 
don — that  this  Indian  is  mine,  and  lastly — forgive  me  if  I 
ascend  once  more  into  the  realm  of  romance  and  improb 
ability — this  country  is  mine,  and  I  love  it,  and  I  won't 
have  it  profaned  by  any  growling,  dyspeptic  little  squirt 
from  a  land  where  they  have  pie  for  breakfast.  I  posi 
tively  forbid  you  to  touch  that  water  without  my  permission. 
I  forbid  jou  to  cuss  my  mozo  without  my  permission,  and 
I  forbid  you  to  damn  this  country  in  my  hearing.  Just 
at  this  particular  moment,  Boston,  the  only  things  which 
you  have  and  which  you  can  call  your  own,  and  do  what 
you  please  with,  are  your  soul,  your  prickly-heat  and  your 
blistered  heel.  I  'm  fully  convinced  that  you  're  quite  a  lit 
tle  man  back  in  Boston  for  the  reason  that  you're  one  hell 
of  a  small  man  out  here,  even  if  you  do  wear  a  string  of 
letters  after  your  name  like  the  tail  on  a  comet. 

"You  were  swelling  around  in  San  Berdoo,  talking  big 
and  hollering  for  an  investment.  I  showed  you  samples 
of  ore  from  my  desert  prospect  and  you  got  excited.  You 
wanted  to  examine  my  claim,  you  said,  and  if  you  liked  it 
you  would  engage  to  bring  it  to  the  attention  of  'your  as 
sociates'  and  pay  me  my  price.  I  offered  to  bring  you  in 
here  as  my  guest,  and  ever  since  you  got  off  the  train  at 
Salton  you've  snarled  and  snapped  and  beefed  and  inv 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  13 

posed  on  my  hospitality,  and  it's  got  to  stop.  I  don  \  need 
you;  I  don't  care  for  you;  I  think  you're  a  renegade  four- 
flusher,  bluffing  on  no  pair,  and  if  I  had  known  what  a 
nasty  little  old  woman  you  are  I'd  never  have  opened 
negotiations  with  you.  Now,  you  chirk  up,  Boston,  and 
smile  and  try  to  be  a  good  sport,  or  I  '11  work  you  over  and 
make  a  man  out  of  you.  Savvy?" 

Thoroughly  squelched,  the  malingerer  flushed,  mumbled 
an  apology  and  held  out  his  hand.  The  Desert  Rat  took 
it,  a  little  sorry  that  he  had  not  been  more  temperate  in 
his  language. 

"All  right,  we'll  bury  the  hatchet"  he  said  generously. 
"Maybe  I'm  a  little  too  exacting  and  hard  to  get  along 
With.  I've  got  more  on  my  brain  than  this  prospect  hole, 
and  I'm  worried.  When  I  left  the  wife  at  San  Berdoo  we 
were  expecting  an  arrival  in  camp,  and — well,  we  were 
right  down  to  bed-rock,  and  as  it  was  a  case  of  go  now  or 
never  with  you,  I  had  to  bring  you  in  here  or  perhaps  lose 
the  opportunity  for  a  fortune.  She  wanted  me  to  go. 
She's  a  mighty  brave  little  woman.  You  don't  happen  to 
be  a  married  man,  do  you?  "With  kids?  I've  got — " 

The  Indian  had  paused  and  was  pointing  with  his  gad 
to  the  south.  Miles  and  miles  away  a  great  yellow  cloud 
was  gathering  on  the  horizon,  shutting  out  the  sunlight 
and  advancing  with  incredible  speed. 

"Sandstorm"  warned  the  Desert  Rat,  and  spoke  quickly 
to  the  mozo  in  Spanish.  The  latter  at  once  turned  the 
cavalcade  of  burros  toward  the  hills,  less  than  a  mile  dis 
tant;  shouting  and  beating  the  heavily  laden  little  beasts 
into  a  trot,  the  party  scurried  for  the  shelter  of  a  rocky 
draw  before  the  sandstorm  should  be  upon  them. 

They  won.  Throughout  that  day  and  night  they  camped 
up  the  draw,  safe  from  the  sand  blast.  Early  next  morn 
ing  the  wind  had  subsided  and  with  the  exception  of  some 
slight  changes  in  topography  due  to  the  sandstorm,  the 
desert  was  the  same  old  silent  pulseless  mystery. 

The  party  resumed  its  journey.    While  the  Easternei 


i4  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

remained  with  the  Indian,  the  Desert  Rat  circled  out  into 
the  open,  heading  for  a  little  backbone  of  quartz  which 
rose  out  of  the  sand.  He  had  not  noticed  this  exposed 
ledge  during  their  flight  into  the  draw,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  sandstorm  had  exposed  it. 

Suddenly  the  mozo  uttered  a  low  ''"Whoa,"  and  the 
burros  halted.  Off  in  the  sage  and  sand  the  Desert  Rat 
was  standing  with  upraised  arm,  as  a  signal  for  them  to 
halt  and  wait  for  him.  For  nearly  half  an  hour  he  circled 
around,  stepping  off  distances  and  building  monuments. 
Presently,  apparently  having  completed  his  investigations, 
he  beckoned  the  rest  of  his  party  to  approach. 

"What's  up?"  demanded  the  Boston  man  the  moment 
he  and  the  Indian  arrived. 

"I've  just  found  Jake  Revenner's  lost  claim.  It's  one 
of  these  marvelously  rich  ledges  that  have  been  discovered 
and  located  and  lost  and  found  and  lost  again,  and  cost 
scores  of  human  lives.  The  sandstorms  expose  them  and; 
cover  them  up  again,  and  after  a  storm — as  now — the  con. 
tour  of  the  desert  is  so  changed  that  a  man,  having  staked 
his  claim  and  gone  out  for  grub,  can't  find  the  claim  when 
he  comes  back.  It  was  that  way  with  the  Nigger  Ben 
placer.  It's  been  found  and  lost  half  a  dozen  times. 
There  was  a  claim  discovered  out  here  by  a  man  named 
Jake  Revenner,  but  he  lost  it  and  blew  out  his  brains  in 
sheer  disgust.  I  have  just  stumbled  across  one  of  his  mon 
uments  with  his  c^d  location  notices  buried  in  a  can.  The 
late  sandstorm  uncovered  the  ledge,  and  it  looks  'fat'  enough 
for  yours  truly.  Mir  a?" 

He  tossed  a  sample  to  the  Indian,  and  another  of  about 
the  same  size  to  the  white  man.  The  latter  lifted  it,  exam 
ined  it  closely  and  sat  down.  He  was  quite  excited. 

"By  thunder!"  he  managed  to  say.    "We're  in  luck." 

A  slight  smile  flickered  across  the  face  of  the  Desert 
Rat,  but  his  voice  was  as  calm  and  grave  as  usual. 

"Yes,  it's  rich — very  rich.     There's  a  comfortable  for« 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  15 

lying  exposed  on  the  surface.  By  the  way,  I  think 
i  shall  pay  you  a  liberal  fee  for  your  lost  time  and  aban 
don  that  prospect  I  was  taking  you  in  to  see.  Compared 
with  this,  it's  not  worth  considering." 

"I  should  say  you  should  abandon  it"  the  other  exulted. 
;<You'd  have  a  fine  time  trying  to  get  me  away  from  this 
ledge  now.  Why,  there's  millions  in  it,  and  I  suggest  we 
stake  it  out  at  once.  Let's  get  busy." 

He  jumped  up  eagerly — from  force  of  habit  dusting  the 
seat  of  his  riding  breeches — and  turned  peremptorily  to 
the  mozo. 

' '  Get  those  packs  off,  Joe,  or  Jim  or  whatever  your  name 
is,  and  be  quick — " 

"You  forget,  old  man,"  interjected  the  Desert  Rat 
gently.  "He  doesn't  speak  English,  and  if  he  did  he 
wouldn't  obey  you.  You  see,"  he  added  naively,  "I've 
told  him  not  to." 

' '  Oh,  well,  I  didn  't  mean  anything.  Don 't  be  so  touchy. 
Let's  get  busy,  for  heaven's  sake,  and  stake  this  claim." 

The  Desert  Rat  stretched  himself  with  feline  grace. 
"I'm  sorry"  he  replied  with  his  tantalizing  good-natured 
smile,  "to  be  forced  to  object  to  your  use  of  the  plural 
pronoun  in  conjunction  with  that  certain  tract,  piece  and 
parcel  of  land  known  and  described  as  the  Baby  Mine  claim. 
The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  have  already  staked  it.  You 
see,  I  was  thinking  of  the  little  one  that  will  be  waiting 
for  me  in  San  Berdoo  when  I  get  back.  See  the  point? 
My  baby — Baby  Mine — rather  a  neat  play  on  words,  don't 
you  think?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I'm  not  in  on  thk  find?"  de- 
Bianded  the  man  from  Boston. 

"Your  penetration  is  remarkable.     I  do.'* 

"But  such  a  course  is  outrageous.     It's  opposed — " 

"Please  do  not  argue  with  me.  I  found  it.  Naturally 
I  claim  it.  I  could  quote  you  verbatim  the  section  of  the 
saining  law  under  which  I  am  entitled  to  maintain  this 


1 6  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

high-handed — er — outrage ;  but  why  indulge  in  such  a  dry; 
subject?  I  found  this  claim,  and  since  I  don't  feel  gen 
erously  disposed  this  morning,  I'm  going  to  keep  it." 

"But  I'm  in  the  party  with  you.  It  seems  to  me  that 
common  justice — " 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Boston,  don't  throw  up  to  me  the 
ains  of  my  past.  Of  course  you're  in  my  party.  That's 
my  misfortune,  not  my  fault.  I  observed  this  little  back 
bone  of  quartz  and  asked  you  to  walk  over  here  with  me 
for  a  look  at  it.  You  wouldn't  come.  You  said  your  foot 
hurt  you.  So  I  came  alone.  If  you  had  been  with  me 
at  the  time,  now,  of  course  that  would  have  been  different. 
But—" 

"But  I — well,  in  a  measure — why,  we're  out  here  to 
gether,  sort  of  partners  as  it  were,  and — " 

"The  Lord  forgive  you,  Boston.  My  partner!  You 
never  were  and  never  could  be.  I  'm  particular  in  the  mat 
ter  of  partners.  All  Desert  Rats  in  good  standing  are. 
You're  the  last  man  on  earth  I'd  have  for  my  partner.  A 
partner  shares  the  expenses  of  a  trip  and  hears  the  hard 
ships  without  letting  out  a  roar  every  half  mile.  A  partner 
sticks,  Boston.  He  shares  his  grub  and  his  money  and  his 
last  drop  of  water,  and  when  that 's  gone  he  '11  die  with  you 
like  a  gentleman.  That's  what  a  partner  does,  but  you 
wouldn't  do  it." 

"Well,  I'm  entitled  to  a  half  interest  and  I'll  see  that  I 
get  it,"  shrilled  the  other  furiously.  "I'll  sue  you — " 

"How  about  the  Indian?" 

"Why,  he— he's— " 

"Only  an  Indian,  eh?  Well,  you're  entitled  to  your 
point  of  view.  Only  that  mozo  and  I  have  slept  under 
the  same  blanket  so  often — " 

"You  can't  stop  me  from  staking  this  claim,  too"  shouted 
the  Boston  man,  and  shook  his  skinny  little  fist  under  the 
Desert  Rat's  nose.  The  latter  slapped  him  across  the  wrist. 

"Pesky  fly"  he  said. 

"You  can't  stop  me,  I  tell  you." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  17 

' '  I  can.     But  I  won 't.    I  'm  not  a  bully. ' ' 

"You  think  you  can  beat  me  out  of  my  rights,  do  you? 
Ill  show  you.  I'll  beat  you  out  of  your  half  before  I'm 
through  with  you." 

"On  whose  water?" 

The  bantering  snaile  broadened  to  a  grin — the  graceless 
young  desert  wanderer  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,, 

"You're  such  a  card,  Boston"  he  chortled.  "Such  ex 
quisite  notions  of  social  usage  I  have  never  observed  out 
side  the  peerage.  Really,  you  shouldn't  be  allowed  to  go 
visiting.  You're  unmannerly  enough  to  ask  for  a  third 
helping  to  cake." 

"I  insist  that  I  am  entitled  to  a  half  interest  in  this 
claim.  As  you  decline  to  recognize  my  rights,  I  must  take 
the  matter  in  my  own  hands.  I,  too,  shall  stake  the  claim 
and  endeavor  to  get  my  location  notice  filed  in  the  land 
office  before  yours.  If  you  haven't  any  sense  of  justice 
and  decency,  I  have." 

"Oh,  all  right,  fire  away.  I'll  take  you  back  to  civiliza 
tion  and  see  that  you  don't  starve  or  die  of  thirst  on  the 
way.  I'm  not  entirely  heartless,  Boston.  In  the  mean 
time,  however,  while  you're  staking  the  claim,  it  occurs  to 
me  that  I  can  gather  together  a  very  snug  fortune  in  the 
next  day  or  tAvo.  There  appears  to  be  more  gold  than 
quartz  in  this  rock — some  indeed,  is  the  pure  quilL  All 
hands,  including  the  jacks,  will  go  on  a  short  ration  o<i 
water  from  now  on.  Of  course  we're  taking  chances  with 
our  lives,  but  what's  life  if  a  fellow  can't  take  a  chance 
for  a  fortune  like  this?  I'd  sooner  die  and  be  done  with 
it  than  live  my  life  without  a  thrill.  That's  why  I've  de 
generated  from  a  perfectly  matriculated  mining  engineer 
into  a  wandering  desert  rat.  Would  you  believe  it,  Bos 
ton,  I  lived  in  your  town  once.  Graduated  from  the  Tech. 
Why,  I  once  made  love  to  a  Boston  girl  in  a  conservatory. 
I  remember  her  very  well.  She  spilled  pink  lemonade  over 
my  dress  shirt.  I  took  a  long  chance  that  time;  but  out 
here,  even  if  the  chances  are  longer,  when  you  win — " 


1 8  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

He  kissed  his  grimy  paw  airily  and  flung  it  into  space. 

"  'The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,'  he  quoted,  'I  shall  not 
want. '  This  morning  He  left  the  door  opened  and  I  wan 
dered  into  His  Treasure  House,  so  I  guess  I  '11  get  busy  and 
grab  what  I  can  before  the  Night  "Watchman  comes  around. 
Ever  see  tke  Night  "Watchman,  Boston?  I  have.  He's  a 
grave  old  party  with  a  long  beard,  and  he  carries  a  scythe. 
You  see  him  when  you  're  thirsty,  and — well,  in  the  pursuit 
of  my  inborn  hobby  for  taking  chances,  I'll  introduce  you 
to  him  this  trip.  Permit  me  to  remind  you  once  more  of 
the  consequences  if  you  help  yourself  to  the  water  without 
consulting  me.  It'll  militate  against  your  chances  of  get 
ting  to  the  land  office  first." 

The  Desert  Rat  helped  the  mozo  unpack  the  burros, 
while  the  man  from  Boston  tore  some  pages  from  his  note 
book  and  proceeded  to  write  out  his  location  notices  and 
cache  them  in  monuments  which  he  built  beside  those  of 
his  predecessors.  He  even  copied  the  exact  wording  on  the 
Desert  Rat's  notices.  He  forgot  his  blistered  heel  and 
worked  with  prodigious  energy  and  interest,  receiving  with 
dogged  silent  disdain  the  humorous  sallies  of  the  Desert 
Rat,  to  whom  the  other's  sudden  industry  was  a  source  of 
infinite  amusement.  The  Desert  Rat  and  the  Indian  were 
busy  with  pans  and  prospector's  picks  gouging  out  ''string 
ers"  and  crevices  and  picking  up  scattered  pieces  of 
"jewelry"  rock.  "When  all  the  "color"  in  sight  had  been 
cleaned  up,  the  Desert  Rat  produced  a  drill  and  a  stick 
of  dynamite  from  the  pack,  put  in  a  "shot"  and  uncov 
ered  a  pocket  of  such  richness  that  even  the  stolid  Cahuilla 
could  not  forbear  indulgence  in  one  of  his  infrequent  Span 
ish  expletives.  It  was  a  deposit  of  rotten  honeycombed 
rock  that  was  nine-tenths  pure  gold — what  is  known  in  the 
parlance  of  the  prospector  as  a  "kidney." 

The  disgruntled  claimant  to  a  half  interest  in  the  Baby 
Mine  reached  into  the  hole  and  seized  a  nugget  worth  fully 
a  thousand  dollars.  The  Desert  Rat  tapped  him  smartly 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  19 

across  the  knuckles  with  the  handle  of  his  prospector's 
pick  and  made  him  drop  it. 

"If  you  please,  Boston"  he  said  gently.  "You're  wel 
come  to  share  my  grub,  and  I'll  whack  up  even  with  you 
on  the  water,  and  I'll  cook  for  you  and  wait  on  you,  but 
I'll  be  doggoned  if  it  isn't  up  to  you  to  furnish  your  own 
dynamite.  There  was  ten  thousand  in  loose  stuff  lying 
on  the  surface,  and  you  might  have  been  pardoned  for 
helping  yourself  to  as  much  of  it  as  you  could  carry  per 
sonally,  but  you  elected  to  restake  the  claim  and  now  all 
that  easy  picking  belongs  to  the  Indian  and  me.  He's  a 
good  Indian  and  I  'm  going  to  let  him  have  some  of  it.  He 
won't  take  much  because  he's  fond  of  me.  I  saved  him 
from  being  lynched  for  killing  a  white  man  who  deserved 
it.  But  for  years  he 's  just  hungered  for  a  top-buggy,  with 
side  bars  and  piano  box  and  the  whole  blamed  rig  painted 
bright  red,  so  he  can  take  his  squaw  out  in  style ;  and  I  'm 
going  to  see  that  he  gets  it.  However,  that's  neither  here 
nor  there.  You  keep  your  fingers  out  of  the  sugar  bowl, 
old  sport.  It's  a  lovely  sight  and  hard  to  resist,  I  know, 
but  do  be  careful." 

All  that  day  the  Desert  Eat  and  his  Indian  retainer 
worked  through  the  stringers  and  pockets  of  the  Baby 
Mine,  while  the  man  from  Boston  sat  looking  at  them,  or, 
when  the  spirit  moved  him,  casting  about  in  the  adjacent 
sand  for  stray  ' '  specimens ' '  of  which  he  managed  to  secure 
quite  a  number.  The  next  morning,  as  soon  as  it  was  light 
enough  to  see,  the  work  was  commenced  again,  and  by  noon 
the  last  piece  of  rotten  honeycombed  rock  with  its  streaks 
and  wens  of  dull  virgin  gold  had  been  cleaned  up.  The 
Desert  Rat  used  the  last  of  his  dynamite  in  a  vain  endeavor 
to  unearth  another  "kidney,"  and  finally  decided  to  call  it 
quits. 

' '  They  took  eighty-two  thousand  dollars  out  of  one  little 
carload  of  ore  i»  the  Delhi  mine  in  Nevada  county"  he 
announced,  "tut  the  Baby  Mine  makes  that  record  look 


20  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

amateurish.  It's  the  richest  strike  I  have  ever  heard  of, 
with  the  exception,  possibly,  of  the  big  strike  at  Antelope 
Peak.  They  took  out  nearly  three  hundred  thousand  there 
in  less  than  three  days,  just  scratching  it  out  of  stringers 
and  crevices  with  their  jack-knives.  Boston,  my  dear  man, 
I  have  more  than  three  hundred  pounds  of  gold  with,  as  I 
said  before,  some  quartz,  but  not  enough  to  bother.  At 
twelve  ounces  to  the  pound,  twenty  dollars  to  the  ounce, 
I'm  going  back  to  San  Bernardino  and  buy  a  bath,  a  new 
suit  of  store  clothes  and  a  fifty-dollar  baby  carriage  for 
my  expected  heir.  "With  my  dear  little  wife  and  the  baby 
and  all  this  oro,  I'll  manage  to  be  quite  happy. 

" However,  just  to  show  you  that  there  isn't  a  mean  bone 
in  my  body,  I'm  going  to  withdraw  my  claim  to  the  Baby 
Mine.  My  mozo  and  I  are  about  to  load  this  magnificent 
bunch  of  untainted  wealth  into  the  kyacks,  and  hit  for 
civilization,  and  while  we're  getting  ready  to  break  camp 
you  run  out  and  destroy  my  location  notices.  I  leave  the 
whole  works  to  you.  I  do  this  for  a  number  of  reasons — 
the  first  being  that  you  will  thus  be  induced  to  return  to 
this  section  of  California.  Not  knowing  the  country,  you 
will  doubtless  perish,  and  thus  from  the  placid  bosom  of 
society  a  thorn  will  be  removed.  Secondly,  if  you  should 
survive  long  enough  to  get  in,  you  could  never  find  your 
way  out  without  me  for  a  guide — and  it  wouldn't  be  safe 
to  hire  this  Indian.  He  dislikes  you.  The  third  reason 
is  that  I  believe  this  is  just  a  phenomenally  rich  pocket 
and  that  I  have  about  cleaned  it  out.  The  fourth  reason 
is  that  another  sandstorm  will  probably  cover  the  Baby 
Mine  before  long,  and  the  fifth  reason  is:  'What's  the  use 
going  desert-ratting  until  your  money 's  all  gone  ? '  ' 

"Well,  I'll  see  that  I  get  my  share  of  that  plunder" 
snapped  the  unhappy  tenderfoot.  "Of  course,  right  now, 
it  may  seem  perfectly  proper  from  your  point  of  view  to 
take  advantage  of  certain  adventitious  circumstance*, 
but- 

"Yes,  the  humble  little  jackass  is  really  an  adrentitioui 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  21 

circumstance.  By  jingo,  that  hadn't  occurred  to  me  at  all. 
I  guess  you're  right,  Boston.  I'll  have  to  give  you  half 
the  plunder.  Now  that  we've  settled  that  point,  let's  di 
vide  the  adventitious  circumstances.  I  have  four  of  them, 
and  I  '11  sell  you  two  for  your  half  of  the  gold.  No  ?  Price 
too  high?  All  right!  I'll  agree  to  freight  your  share  in 
for  you,  only  I'm  afraid  transportation  rates  are  so  high 
in  the  desert  that  the  freight  will  about  eat  up  all  the  profit. 
I'm  afraid  that  the  best  I  can  do  for  you  is  to  give  you 
your  half  and  let  you  carry  it  yourself.  If  you  want  to 
tote  it  out  on  your  back,  Boston,  help  yourself.  No  ?  Well, 
well!" 

' '  We  '11  not  discuss  the  matter  further,  if  you  please.  At 
another  time  and  place,  perhaps — " 

"Perhaps?  Perhaps?  Well,  I'm  stripping  down  our 
food  supply  to  the  bare  necessities  in  order  to  make  room 
for  this  gold,  and  the  water  is  pretty  low.  If  we  don't 
strike  water  at  Chuckwalla  Tanks  there'll  be  real  eloquence 
to  that  word  'perhaps.'  However,  that  discussion  can  wait. 
Everything  appears  to  be  propitious  for  an  immediate  start, 
so  let's  defer  the  argument  and  vamose.  Giddap,  you  hairy 
little  desert  birds.  Crack  along  out  o'  this." 

But  following  the  dictates  of  his  nature,  when  Fortune 
smiled  and  bade  him  "take  a  chance,"  the  Desert  Rat  had 
already  delayed  too  long  his  departure  from  the  Baby 
Mine.  The  supply  of  water  still  left  in  the  kegs  was  so 
meager  that  with  any  other  man  the  situation  would  have 
given  rise  to  grave  concern.  As  it  was,  however,  all  that 
troubled  the  Desert  Rat  was  what  he  was  going  to  do  with 
the  man  from  Boston  when  that  inconsistent  and  avaricious 
individual  should  "peter  out."  More  than  once,  in  his 
pursuit  of  the  rainbow,  the  Desert  Rat  had  known  what  it 
was  to  travel  until  he  couldn't  travel  another  yard;  then 
to  jump  up  and  travel  ten  miles  more — to  water !  He  did 
not  know  the  extent  of  his  own  strength,  but  whatever  might 
be  its  limitations  he  knew  that  the  Cahuilla  was  good  for 
an  equal  demonstration  of  endurance.  But  the  man  from 


22  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Boston  1     He  was  quickly  read.     The  Desert  Eat  gave 
until  midnight  that  night,  but  he  wilted  at  ten  o'clock. 

"A  sore  heel,  a  mean  soul  and  no  spunk  have  killed  more 
men  than  whisky"  the  Desert  Rat  commented  whimsically, 
as  he  pulled  the  weak  brother  out  of  a  cluster  of  catclaw. 
"Boston,  you're  an  awful  nuisance — you  are,  for  a  fact. 
You've  had  water  three  times  to  our  once,  and  yet  you  go 
to  work  and  peter  out  with  Chuckwalla  Tanks  only  five 
miles  away.  Why,  I've  often  covered  that  distance  on  my 
hands  and  knees.  Come,  now,  buck  up.  Hang  on  to  the 
rear  cross  of  one  of  the  pack  saddles  and  let  the  jack  snake 
you  along. ' ' 

"I  can't.  I'm  exhausted.  I'll  die  if  I  don't  have  A 
drink." 

"No,  you'll  not  die.  No  such  luck.  And  there  isn't 
any  more  water.  However,  you  've  been  spoiled  in  the  rais 
ing,  so  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  defer  to  you — particularly 
since  it's  my  fault  that  we're  short  of  wrater.  What  can'i 
be  cured  must  be  endured,  and  I  can't  let  you  die." 

He  spoke  to  the  Indian,  who  took  two  canteens  and  de 
parted  into  the  night. 

"He's  going  to  hike  on  ahead  to  Chuckwalla  Tanks  and 
bring  back  some  water  for  you,  Boston"  the  Desert  Rat 
explained.  "He'll  return  about  daylight,  and  we'll  wait 
here  until  he  arrives.  It's  dangerous,  but  the  jacks  aren't 
in  a  bad  way  yet.  They  can  make  it  to  the  Tanks,  even 
after  sunrise." 

"Thanks"  murmured  the  sufferer. 

The  Desert  Rat  grinned.  "You're  getting  on"  he  com 
mented. 

"Where  is  Chuckwalla  Tanks?"  The  tenderfoot  sat  np 
and  stared  after  the  figure  of  the  departing  Indian,  still 
visible  in  the  dim  moonlight. 

"In  a  little  gorge  between  those  low  hills.  You  can  just 
make  out  their  outlines." 

"Yes,  I  see  them.  And  after  that  the  closest  water  is 
where!" 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  23 

' '  The  Colorado  river — forty  miles  due  south.  But  we  're 
lieaded  northwest  and  must  depend  on  tanks  and  desert 
water-holes.  It's  hard  to  tell  how  close  one  is  to  water  on 
that  course.  But  it  doesn't  matter.  We'll  refill  the  kegs 
at  Chuckwalla  Tanks.  There's  most  always  water  there." 
"And  you  say  the  Colorado  river  is  forty  miles  due 
south." 

"Well,  between  forty  and  fifty." 
"Much  obliged  for  the  information,  I'm  sure." 
He  straightened  suddenly  and  drew  back  his  arm.     The 
Desert  Rat  saw  that  he  was  about  to  hurl  a  large  smooth 
stone,  and  simultaneously  he  dodged  and  reached  for  his 
gun.    But  he  was  a  fifth  of  a  second  too  slow.     The  stone 
struck  him  on  the  side  of  the  head,  rather  high  up,  and  he 
collapsed  into  a  bloody  heap. 

On  the  instant  the  footsore  man  from  Boston  developed 
an  alacrity  and  definiteness  of  purpose  that  would  have 
surprised  the  Desert  Eat,  had  he  been  in  condition  to  ob 
serve  it.  He  seized  the  gad  which  the  mozo  had  dropped, 
climbed  upon  the  lightest  laden  burro  and,  driving  the 
others  before  him,  set  off  for  Chuckwalla  Tanks.  The  In 
dian  had  disappeared  by  this  time,  and  there  was  little  dan 
ger  of  overtaking  him;  so  with  the  two  low  hills  as  his 
objective  point,  the  Easterner  circled  a  mile  out  of  the 
direct  course  which  he  knew  the  Indian  would  take,  and1 
when  the  dawn  commenced  to  show  in  the  east  he  herded 
the  pack-animals  down  into  a  swale  between  two  sand-dunes. 
With  remarkable  cunning  he  decided  to  scout  the  territory 
before  proceeding  further ;  hence,  as  soon  as  there  was  light 
enough  to  permit  of  a  good  view,  he  climbed  to  the  crest 
«f  a  high  dune  and  looked  out  over  the  desert.  As  far  as 
he  could  see  no  living  thing  moved;  so  he  drove  the  pack 
train  out  of  the  swale  and  headed  for  the  gorge  between  the 
hills.  The  thirsty  burros  broke  into  a  run,  hee-hawing  with 
joy  as  they  sniffed  the  water,  and  within  a  few  minutes 
man  and  beasts  were  drinking  in  common  at  Chuckwalla 
Tanks. 


44  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

The  man  permitted  them  to  drink  their  fill,  after  which 
they  fell  to  grazing  on  the  short  grass  which  grew  in  the 
draw.  While  he  realized  the  necessity  for  haste  if  he  was 
to  succeed  in  levanting  with  the  gold,  the  tenderfoot  had 
been  too  long  a  slave  to  his  creature  comforts  to  face  an 
other  day  without  breakfast.  He  abstracted  some  grub 
from  one  of  the  packs  and  stayed  the  pangs  of  hunger. 
Then  he  bathed  his  blistered  feet,  filled  the  water  kega, 
rounded  up  his  pack  train  and  departed  up  the  draw. 
After  traveling  a  mile  the  draw  broadened  out  into  the 
desert,  and  the  man  from  Boston  turned  south  and  headed! 
for  the  Rio  Colorado.  He  was  walking  now  and  appeared 
to  have  forgotten  about  his  blistered  heel,  for  at  times  he 
broke  into  a  run,  beating  the  burros,  screaming  curses  at 
them  with  all  the  venom  of  his  wolfish  soul,  for  he  was 
pursued  now  by  the  fragments  of  his  conscience.  His  at 
tack  upon  the  Desert  Rat  had  been  the  outgrowth  of  a  sud 
den  murderous  impulse,  actuated  fully  as  much  by  his 
hatred  and  fear  of  the  man  as  by  his  desire  to  possess  the 
gold.  One  moment  he  would  shudder  at  the  thought  that 
he  had  committed  murder ;  the  next  he  was  appalled  at  the 
thought  that  after  all  he  had  only  stunned  the  man — that 
even  now  the  Desert  Rat  and  his  Indian  retainer  were 
"tracking  him  through  the  waste,  bent  on  wreaking  summary 
vengeance. 

He  need  not  have  worried  so  prematurely.  A  low  range 
of  black  malpais  buttes  stretched  between  him  and  the  man 
he  had  despoiled,  and  as  yet  the  direction  of  his  flight  could 
not  be  observed.  He  drifted  rapidly  south  and  presently 
disappeared  into  one  of  those  long  swales  which  slope  grad 
ually  to  the  river. 

Here,  weaving  his  way  among  the  ironwood  that  grow 
thickly  in  this  section  of  the  desert,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  commission  of  his  crime  he  felt  safe. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  still  dark  when  the  Desert  Rat  regained  conscious 
ness.  He  lay  for  quite  a  while  thereafter,  turning 
things  over  in  his  befuddled  brain,  striving  to  gather 
together  the  tangled  thread  of  the  events  of  the  night. 
Eventually  he  succeeded  in  driving  his  faculties  into  line. 
He  rolled  over,  got  to  his  hands  and  knees  and  paused  a 
minute  to  get  a  fresh  grip  on  himself.  His  aching  head 
hung  low,  like  that  of  a  dying  horse ;  in  the  silence  of  the 
night  he  could  hear  the  drip,  drip  of  his  blood  into  the  sand. 

Presently  he  began  to  move.  Round  and  round  in  the 
sage  he  crawled,  like  some  weary  wounded  animal,  break 
ing  off  the  rotten  dead  limbs  which  lie  close  to  the  base  of 
the  shrub.  Three  piles  of  sage  he  gathered,  placing  the 
piles  in  a  row  twenty  feet  apart.  Then  he  set  fire  to  them 
and  watched  them  burst  into  name. 

It  was  the  desert  call  for  help :  three  fires  in  a  row  by 
night,  three  columns  of  smoke  against  the  horizon  by  day 
— and  the  Cahuilla  Indian,  coming  down  the  draw  from 
Chuckwalla  Tanks  five  miles  away,  saw  flaming  against  the 
dawn  this  appeal  of  the  white  man  he  loved,  for  whom  he 
lived  and  labored.  Straight  across  the  desert  he  ran,  with 
the  long  tireless  stride  that  was  the  heritage  of  his  people. 
His  large  heavy  shoes  retarded  him;  he  removed  them, 
tucked  them  under  his  arm  and  with  a  lofty  disdain  of 
tarantulas  and  side-winders  fled  barefooted.  Three-quar 
ters  of  an  hour  from  the  time  he  had  first  seen  the  signal- 
fires,  the  mozo  was  kneeling  beside  the  stricken  Desert  Rat, 
who  lay  unconscious  close  to  one  of  the  fires.  The  water 
from  the  mozo's  canteen  revived  him,  however,  and  pres 
ently  he  sat  up,  while  the  Cahuilla  washed  the  gash  in  his 


26  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

head  and  bound  it  up  with  his  master 's  bandanna  handker 
chief. 

As  the  Indian  worked,  the  white  man  related  what  had 
occurred  and  how.  He  recalled  his  conversation  with  his 
assailant,  and  shrewdly  surmised  that  he  would  head  for 
the  Colorado  river,  after  having  first  secured  a  supply  of 
water  at  Chuckwalla  Tanks.  The  Desert  Rat's  plan  of 
action  was  quickly  outlined. 

"You  will  help  me  to  get  to  the  Tanks,  where  I'll  have 
water  and  a  chance  to  rest  for  a  day  or  two  until  I'm  able 
to  travel ;  then  I  '11  head  for  the  Rio  Colorado  and  wait  for 
you  in  Ehrenburg.  I'll  keep  one  canteen^  and  you  can 
take  the  other;  I  have  matches  and  my  six-shooter,  and  I 
can  live  on  quail  and  chuckwallas  until  I  get  to  the  river. 
You  have  your  knife.  Track  that  man,  if  you  have  to  fol 
low  him  into  hell,  and  when  you  find  him — no,  don't  kill 
him;  he  isn't  worth  it,  and  besides,  that's  my  work.  It's 
your  job  to  run  him  down.  Bring  him  to  me  in  Ehren 
burg." 

It  was  past  noon  when  they  arrived  at  the  Tanks,  and 
the  Indian  was  carrying  the  Desert  Rat  on  his  back.  While 
the  man  was  quite  conscious,  he  was  still  too  weak  from  the 
effect  of  the  blow  and  loss  of  blood  to  travel  in  the  heat. 

At  the  Tanks  the  Indian  picked  up  the  trail  of  four 
burros  and  a  man.  He  refilled  his  canteen,  took  a  long 
drink  from  the  Tank,  grunted  an  "Adois,  scnor,"  and  de 
parted  up  the  draw  at  the  swift  dog-trot  which  is  typical 
of  the  natural  long-distance  runner. 

The  Desert  Rat  gazed  after  him.  "God  bless  your  crude 
untutored  soul,  you  best  of  mozos"  he  murmured.  "You 
have  one  virtue  that  most  white  men  lack — you'll  stay  put 
and  be  faithful  to  your  salt,  And  now,  just  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  I  '11  make  my  will  and  write  out  a  detailed  account 
•f  this  entire  affair — in  case." 

For  half  an  hour  he  scribbled  haltingly  in  an  old  russet- 
covered  note-book.  This  business  attended  to,  he  crawled 
into  the  meager  shade  of  a  palo  verde  tree  and  fell  asleep. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  27 

When  he  awoke  an  hour  or  two  later  and  looked  down  the 
draw  to  the  open  desert,  he  saw  that  another  sandstorm  was 
raging. 

' '  That  settles  it"  he  soliloquized  contentedly.  ' ' The  trail 
is  wiped  out  and  the  best  Indian  on  earth  can't  follow  a 
trail  that  doesn't  exist.  But  that  wretched  little  bandit 
is  out  in  this  sandstorm,  and  the  jacks  will  stampede  on 
him  and  he  '11  pay  his  bill  to  society — with  interest.  When 
the  wind  dies  down  the  pack  outfit  will  drift  back  to  this 
water-hole,  \  and  when  Old  Reliable  finds  out  that  the  trail 
is  lost,  he'll  drift  back  too.  Anyhow,  if  the  burros  don't 
show  we'll  trail  them  by  the  buzzards  and  find  the  packs. 
Ah,  you  great  mysterious  wonderful  desert,  how  good  you  've 
been  to  me !  I  can  sleep  now — in  peace. ' ' 

He  slept.  When  he  awoke  again,  he  discovered  to  his 
surprise  that  he  had  been  walking  in  his  sleep.  He  had 
an  empty  canteen  over  his  shoulder  and  he  was  bare 
headed.  His  head  ached  and  throbbed,  his  tongue  and 
throat  felt  dry  and  cottony;  he  seemed  to  have  been  wan 
dering  in  a  weary  land  for  a  long  time,  for  BO  definite 
reason,  and  he  was  thirsty. 

He  glanced  around  him  for  the  water-hole  beside  which 
he  had  lain  down  to  sleep  and  await  the  mozo  and  the 
burros.  On  all  sides  the  vast  undulating  sea  of  sand  and 
sage  stretched  to  the  horizon,  and  then  the  Desert  Rat 
understood,  He  had  been  delirious.  With  the  fever  from 
his  wound  and  the  thought  of  the  fortune  of  which  he  had 
been  despoiled,  uppermost  even  in  his  subconscious  brain, 
he  had  left  Chuckwalla  Tanks  and  started  in  pursuit. 
How  far  or  in  what  direction  he  had  wandered  he  knew 
not.  He  only  knew  that  he  wras  lost,  that  he  was  weak  and 
thirsty,  that  the  pain  and  fever  had  gone  out  of  his  head, 
and  that  the  Night  Watchman  walked  beside  him  in  the 
silent  waste. 

It  came  into  his  brain  to  light  three  fires — to  flash  the 
S.  0.  S,  call  of  the  desert  in  letters  of  smoke  against  the 
sky — and  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  matches.  There 


28  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

were  none;  and  with  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob  Hie 
dauntless  Argonaut  turned  his  faltering  footsteps  to  the 
south  and  lurched  away  toward  the  Rio  Colorado. 

Throughout  the  long  cruel  day  he  staggered  on.  Night 
found  him  close  to  the  mouth  of  a  long  black  canyon  be 
tween  two  ranges  of  black  hills,  whose  crests  marked  them 
as  a  line  of  ancient  extinct  volcanoes. 

"I'll  camp  here  to-night,"  he  decided,  "and  early  to 
morrow  morning  I'll  go  up  that  canyon  and  hunt  for 
water.  I  might  find  a  'tank.'  ' 

He  lay  down  in  the  sand,  pillowed  his  sore  head  on  his 
arm,  and,  God  being  merciful  and  the  Desert  Rat's  luck 
still  holding,  he  slept. 

At  daylight  he  was  on  his  way,  stiff  and  cramped  with 
the  chill  of  the  desert  night.  Slowly  he  approached  the 
mouth  of  the  canyon,  crossing  a  bare  burnt  space  that 
looked  like  an  old  "wash." 

Suddenly  he  paused,  staring.  There,  before  him  in  tho 
old  wash,  was  the  fresh  trail  of  two  burros  and  a  man. 
The  trail  of  the  man  was  not  well  defined;  rather  scuffed 
in  fact,  as  if  he  had  been  half  dragged  along. 

"Hanging  to  the  pack-saddle  and  letting  the  jack  drag 
him"  muttered  the  lost  Desert  Rat.  "I'll  bet  it's  little 
Boston,  after  all,  and  I'm  not  yet  too  late  to  square  ac 
counts  with  that  hortibre." 

In  the  prospect  of  twining  his  two  hands  around  the  ras 
cal's  throat  there  was  a  certain  primitive  pleasure  that 
added  impetus  to  the  passage  of  the  Desert  Rat  up  the 
lonely  canyon.  The  thought  lent  new  strength  to  the 
man.  Dying  though  he  knew  himself  to  be,  yet  would  he 
square  accounts  with  the  man  who  had  murdered  him. 
He  would — 

He  paused.  He  had  found  the  man  with  the  two  burros. 
There  could  be  no  mistake  about  that,  for  the  canyon 
ended  in  a  sheer  cliff  that  towered  two  hundred  feet  above 
him,  and  in  this  horrible  cul  de  sac  lay  the  bleached  bones 
of  two  burros  and  a  man. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  29 

Here  was  a  conundrum.  The  Desert  Rat  had  followed 
A  fresh  trail  and  found  stale  bones.  Despite  his  youth,  the 
desert  had  put  something  of  its  own  grim  haunting  mystery 
into  this  man  who  loved  it;  to  him  had  it  been  given  to 
understand  much  that  to  the  layman  savored  of  the  occult ; 
at  birth,  God  had  been  very  good  to  him,  in  that  He  had 
ordained  that  during  all  his  life  the  Desert  Rat  should  be 
engaged  in  learning  how  to  die,  and  meet  the  issue  un 
afraid.  For  the  Desert  Rat  was  a  philosopher,  and  even 
at  this  ghastly  spectacle  his  sense  of  humor  did  not  desert 
him.  He  sat  down  on  the  skull  of  one  of  the  burros  and 
laughed — a  dry  cackling  gobble. 

"What  a  great  wonderful  genius  of  a  desert  it  is!"  he 
mumbled.  "It's  worth  dying  in  after  all — a  fitting  mau 
soleum  for  a  Desert  Rat.  Here  I  come  staggering  in,  with 
murder  in  my  heart,  stultifying  my  manhood  with  the  ex- 
euse  that  it  would  be  justice  in  the  abstract,  and  the  Lord 
shows  me  an  example  of  the  vanity  and  littleness  of  life. 
All  right,  Boston,  old  man.  You  win,  I  guess,  but  I've 
got  an  ace  coppered,  and  even  if  you  do  get  through,  some 
day  you'll  pay  the  price." 

He  sat  there  on  the  bleached  skull,  his  head  in  his  hands, 
trembling,  pondering,  yet  unafraid  in  the  face  of  the  knowl 
edge  that  here  his  wanderings  must  end.  He  was  right, 
It  was  a  spot  eminently  befitting  the  finish  of  such  a  man. 
It  was  at  least  exclusive,  for  the  vulgar  and  the  common 
would  never  perish  here.  In  all  the  centuries  since  its 
formation  no  human  feet,  save  his  own  and  those  of  the 
man  whose  skeleton  lay  before  him,  had  ever  awakened 
the  echoes  in  its  silent  halls.  Pioneers,  dreamers  both, 
men  of  the  Great  Outdoors,  each  had  heard  the  call  of  the 
silent  places — each  had  essayed  to  fight  his  way  into  the 
treasure  vaults  of  the  desert;  and  as  they  had  begun,  so 
had  they  finished — in  the  arms  of  Nature,  who  had  claimed 
the  utmost  of  their  love. 

The  Desert  Rat  was  a  true  son  of  the  desert.  To  him 
the  scowl  of  the  sun-baked  land  at  midday  had  always 


30  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

turned  to  a  smile  of  promise  at  dawn;  to  him  the  darkest 
night  was  but  the  forerunner  of  another  day  of  glorious 
battle,  when  he  could  rise  out  of  the  sage,  stretch  his  young 
legs  and  watch  the  sun  rise  over  his  empire.  He  knew 
the  desert — he  saw  the  issue  now,  but  still  he  did  not  falter. 

"Poor  little  wife,"  he  mumbled;  "poor  little  unborn 
baby!  You'll  hope,  through  the  long  years,  waiting  for 
me  to  come  back — and  you  '11  never  know ! ' ' 

His  faltering  gaze  wandered  down  the  canyon  where  his 
own  tracks  and  those  of  the  dead  shone  gray  against  the 
brown  of  the  sun-swept  wash.  He  had  followed  a  trail 
that  might  have  been  ten  years  old;  perhaps,  in  the  years 
to  come,  some  other  wanderer  would  see  his  tracks,  halting, 
staggering,  uncertain,  blazing  the  ancient  call  of  the  desert : 
"Come  to  me  or  I  perish."  And  following  the  trail,  even 
as  the  Desert  Rat  had  followed  this  other,  he,  too,  in  his, 
own  time,  would  come  at  length  to  the  finish — and  wonder. 

The  Desert  Rat  sighed,  but  if  in  that  supreme  moment 
he  wept  it  was  not  for  himself.  He  had  many  things  to 
think  of,  he  had  much  of  happiness  to  renounce,  but  he 
was  of  that  breed  that  dares  to  approach  the  end. 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  bis  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 

For  him  the  trail  had  ended  here,  as  it  had  for  this 
other  remnant  of  vanished  life  that  lay  before  him  now 
with  arms  outstretched.  The  Desert  Rat  stared  at  the  relic. 
A  cross !  The  body  formed  a  cross !  Here  again  was  The 
Promise — 

A  thought  came  to  the  perishing  wanderer,  "I'll  leave 
a  message"  he  gobbled.  He  could  not  forbear  a  joke. 
"To  be  delivered  when  called  for"  he  added.  "This  other 
man  might  have  done  the  same,  but  perhaps  he  didn  't  care 
• — perhaps  there  wasn't  anybody  waiting  at  home  for  him." 

From  his  shirt  pocket  he  drew  the  stub  of  a  lead  pencil 
and  the  note-book  in  which  he  had  written  his  will  and  tha 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  31 

record  of  his  betrayal.     He  added  the  story  of  his  wander- 
logs  since  leaving  Chuckwalla  Tanks,  and  the  postscript? 

The  company  in  which  I  will  be  found  was  not  of  my  own 
seeking.  He  was  here  before  me  by  several  years  and  I  found 
nothing  whereby  he  might  be  identified. 

He  tore  the  leaves  out  of  the  note-book,  stuffed  them 
inside  his  empty  canteen  and  screwed  the  cap  on  tight; 
after  which  he  cast  about  for  a  prominent  place  where  he 
might  leave  his  last  message  to  the  world. 

At  the  head  of  the  canyon  stood  an  extinct  volcano,  its 
precipitous  sides  forming  the  barrier  at  the  western  end 
cf  the  canyon.  Away  back  in  the  years  when  the  world 
was  young,  a  stream  of  thin  soupy  lava,  spewed  from  this 
ancient  crater,  had  flowed  down  the  canyon  out  onto  the 
desert.  It  was  this  which  the  Desert  Rat  had  at  first  taken 
for  an  old  "wash."  Owing  to  the  pitch  of  the  canyon 
floor,  most  of  the  lava  had  run  out,  but  a  thin  crust,  averag 
ing  in  thickness  from  a  quarter  to  three  quarters  of  an 
inch,  still  remained.  Originally,  this  thin  lava  had  been  a 
creamy  white,  but  with  the  passage  of  centuries  the  sun 
had  baked  it  to  a  dirty  brown  and  the  lava  had  become 
disintegrated  and  rotten.  As  the  hot  lava  had  hardened 
and  dried  it  had  cracked,  after  the  fashion  of  a  lake  bed 
when  the  water  has  evaporated,  but  into  millions  and  mil 
lions  of  smaller  cracks  than  in  the  case  where  water  has 
evaporated  from  mud.  As  a  result  of  this  peculiar  condi 
tion,  the  entire  lava  capping  in  the  canyon  was  split  into 
email  fragments,  each  fragment  fitting  exactly  into  its  ap 
pointed  place,  the  whole  forming  a  marvelous  piece  of 
natural  mosaic  that  could  only  have  been  designed  by  the 
Master  Artist. 

With  the  point  of  his  pocket  knife  the  Desert  Rat  pried 
2oose  one  of  these  sections  of  lava.  Where  it  had  been  ex 
posed  to  the  sun  on  top  it  was  brown,  but  the  under  side 
was  the  original  creamy  white. 


32  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

The  mystery  of  the  phantom  trail  was  solved  at  last.  In 
fact,  not  to  state  a  paradox,  there  had  been  no  mystery  at 
first — at  least  to  the  Desert  Rat.  The  moment  he  saw  thel 
bones  he  guessed  the  answer  to  that  weird  puzzle. 

The  tracks  were  easily  explained.  "When  one  walked  on 
the  surface  of  this  thin  lava  crust  it  broke  beneath  him  and 
crumbled  into  dust.  The  brown  dust  on  top  mingled  with 
the  underlying  white,  the  blend  of  colors  on  the  whole 
forming  a  slate-colored  patch  with  creamy  edges,  marking 
the  boundaries  of  the  footprints ;  and  here,  in  this  horrible 
canyon,  where  rains  would  never  erode  nor  winds  obliter 
ate,  the  tracks  would  show  for  years  until  the  magic  of  the 
desert  had  again  wrought  its  spell  on  the  landscape  and 
the  ghostly  white  tracks  had  faded  and  blended  again 
into  the  all-prevailing  brown. 

The  Desert  Rat  was  something  of  a  geologist,  and  had  he 
not  been  dying,  an  extended  examination  of  this  weird! 
formation  would  have  interested  him  greatly.  But  he  had 
his  message  to  leave  to  his  loved  ones,  and  time  pressed. 
In  the  joy  and  pride  of  his  strength  and  youth  he  had  dared 
the  desert.  He  had  dreamed  of  a  fortune,  and  this — this 
was  to  be  the  awakening  .  .  . 

He  crawled  out  into  a  smooth  undisturbed  space  and  fell 
to  work  with  the  point  of  his  knife.  Carefully  he  raised 
piece  after  piece  of  the  natural  mosaic,  inverted  it  and 
laid  it  back  in  its  appointed  place.  At  the  end  of  two 
hours  he  finished.  There,  in  inlaid  letters  of  creamy  white 
against  the  desert  brown,  his  message  flared  almost  im 
perishable  : 

Friend,  look  in  my  canteen  and  see  that  I  get  justice. 

A  century  must  pass  before  that  message  faded;  as  for 
the  coming  of  the  messenger,  he  would  leave  that  to  the 
Almighty. 

The  Desert  Rat  was  going  fast  now.  He  moved  back  9 
few  feet,  fearful  that  at  the  end  he  might  obliterate  his 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  33 

message.    "With  his  fading  gaze  fixed  on  the  mouth  of  the 
feanyon  he  lay  waiting,  hoping,  praying,  brave  to  the  last 
.  .  .  and  presently  help  came. 
It  was  the  Night  Watchman! 


CHAPTER  III 

SERENELY  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  but  a  fev» 
hours'  average  running  time  intervenes  between  ii 
and  San  Francisco  on  the  north,  and  Los  Angeles  on 
the  south,  the  little  desert  station  of  San  Pasqual  has  al 
ways  insisted  upon  remaining  a  frontier  town. 

One  can  pardon  San  Pasqual  readily  for  this  apparent 
apathy.  Not  to  do  so  would  savor  strongly  of  an  applica 
tion  of  the  doctrine  of  personal  responsibility  in  the  mat 
ter  of  a  child  with  a  club-foot.  San  Pasqual  isn't  responsi 
ble.  It  has  nothing  to  be  proud  of,  nothing  to  incite  even. 
a  sporadic  outburst  of  civic  pride.  It  never  had. 

Here,  in  this  story,  occurs  a  description.  In  a  narrative 
of  human  emotions,  descriptions  are,  perhaps,  better  ap 
preciated  when  they  are  dispensed  with  unless,  as  in  the 
case  of  San  Pasqual,  they  are  worth  the  time  and  space  and 
trouble.  Assuming,  therefore,  that  San  Pasqual,  for  all  its 
failings,  is  distinctive  enough  to  warrant  this,  we  will  de 
scribe  the  town  as  it  appeared  early  in  the  present  decade ; 
and,  for  that  matter,  will  continue  to  appear,  pending  the 
day  when  they  strike  oil  in  the  desert  and  San  Pasqual 
picks  itself  together,  so  to  speak,  and  begins  to  take  an 
interest  in  life.  Until  then,  however,  as  a  center  of  social, 
scenic,  intellectual  and  commercial  activity,  San  Pasqual 
will  never  attract  globe-trotters,  folks  with  Pilgrim  ances 
tors  or  retired  bankers  from  Kansas  and  Iowa  seeking  an 
attractive  investment  in  western  real  estate. 

San  Pasqual  is  such  a  weather-beaten,  sad,  abject  little 
town  that  one  might  readily  experience  surprise  that  the 
trains  even  condescend  to  stop  there.  It  squats  in  the 
sand  a  few  miles  south  of  Tehachapi  pass,  hemmed  in  by 
mountain  ranges  ocher-tinted  where  near  by,  mellowed  by 
distance  into  gorgeous  shades  of  turquoise  and  deep  maroon. 

34 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  35 

They  are  very  far  away,  these  mountains,  even  though 
their  outlines  are  so  distinct  that  they  appear  close  at  hand. 
The  desert  atmosphere  has  cast  a  kindly  spell  upon  them, 
softening  their  hellish  perspective  into  lines  of  beauty  in 
certain  lights.  It  is  well  that  this  is  so,  for  it  helps  to 
dispel  an  illusion  of  the  imaginative  and  impressionable 
when  first  they  visit  San  Pasqual — the  illusion  that  they  are 
in  prison. 

The  basin  that  lies  between  these  mountains  is  the  waste 
known  as  the  Mojave  desert.  It  stretches  north  and  south 
from  San  Pasqual,  fading  away  into  nothing,  into  impalpa 
ble,  unlovely,  soul-crushing  suggestions  of  space  illimitable ; 
dancing  and  shimmering  in  the  heat  waves,  it  seems  strug 
gling  to  escape.  "When  the  wind  blows,  the  dust-devils 
play  tag  among  the  low  sage  and  greasewood;  the  Joshua 
trees,  rising  in  the  midst  of  this  desolation,  stretch  forth 
their  fantastically  twisted  and  withered  arms,  seeming  to 
invoke  a  curse  on  nature  herself  while  warning  the  traveler 
that  the  heritage  of  this  land  is  death.  There  is  a  bearing 
down  of  one's  spirit  in  the  midst  of  all  this  loneliness  and 
desolation  that  envelops  everything;  yet,  despite  the  un 
canny  mystery  of  it,  the  sense  of  repression  it  imparts,  of 
Unconquerable  isolation  from  all  that  is  good  and  sweet  and 
beautiful,  there  are  those  who  find  it  possible  to  live  in  San 
Pasqual  without  feeling  that  they  are  accursed. 

At  the  western  boundary  of  the  Mojave  desert  lies  San 
Pasqual,  huddled  around  the  railroad  water  tank.  It  is 
the  clearing-house  for  the  Mojave,  for  entering  or  leaving 
the  desert  men  must  pass  through  San  Pasqual.  From 
the  main-line  tracks  a  branch  railroad  now  extends  north 
across  the  desert,  through  the  eastern  part  of  Kern  county 
and  up  the  Owens  river  valley  into  Inyo,  although  at  the 
time  Donna  Corblay  enters  into  this  story  the  railroad  had 
not  been  built  and  a  stage  line  bore  the  brunt  of  the  desert 
travel  as  far  north  as  Keeler — constituting  the  main  outlet 
from  that  vast  but  little  known  section  of  California  that 
lies  ^ast  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  range. 


36  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Hence,  people  entering  or  leaving  this  great  basin  passed 
through  San  Pasqual,  which  accounted  for  the  town  that 
grew  up  around  the  water  tank ;  the  little  row  of  so-called 
"pool  parlors,"  cheap  restaurants,  saloons  and  gambling 
houses,  the  postoffice,  a  drug  store,  a  tiny  school-house  with 
a  belfry  and  no  bell  and  the  little  row  of  cottages  west  of 
the  main-line  tracks  where  all  the  good  people  lived — which 
conglomerate  mass  of  inchoate  architecture  is  all  that  saved 
San  Pasqual  from  the  ignominy  of  being  classed  as  a  flag 
station. 

We  are  informed  that  the  good  people  lived  west  of  the 
tracks.  East  of  the  tracks  it  was  different.  The  past 
tense  is  used  with  a  full  appreciation  of  the  necessity  for 
grammatical  construction,  for  times  have  changed  in  San 
Pasqual,  sin'je  it  is  no  longer  encumbered  with  the  incubus 
that  made  this  story  possible — Harley  P.  Hennage,  the 
town  gambler  and  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual. 

Close  to  the  main-line  tracks  and  midway  between  both 
strata  of  society  stood  San  Pasqual 's  limited  social  and 
civic  center — the  railroad  hotel  and  eating-house.  Hew, 
between  the  arrival  and  departure  of  all  through  trains, 
the  San  Pasqualians  met  on  neutral  ground,  experiencing 
mild  mental  relaxation  watching  the  waitresses  ministering 
to  the  gastronomic  necessities  of  the  day-coach  tourists  from 
the  Middle  West.  At  the  period  in  which  the  action  of  this 
story  takes  place,  however,  most  people  preferred  to  find 
relief  from  the  aching  desolation  of  San  Pasqual  and  its 
environs  in  the  calm,  restful,  spiritual  face  of  Donna 
Corblay. 

Donna  was  the  young  lady  cashier  at  the  combination 
news  stand,  cigar  and  tobacco  emporium  and  pay-as-you- 
leave  counter  in  the  eating-house.  She  was  more  than  that. 
She  was  an  institution.  She  was  the  day  hotel  clerk;  the 
joy  and  despair  of  traveling  salesmen  who  made  it  a  point 
of  duty  to  get  off  at  San  Pasqual  and  eat  whether  they 
were  hungry  or  not;  information  clerk  for  rates  and 
methods  of  transportation  for  all  desert  points  north,  south, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  37 

<?ast  and  west.  She  was  the  recipient  of  confidences  from 
waitresses  engaged  in  the  innocent  pastime  of  across-the- 
counter  flirtations  with  conductors  and  brakemen.  She  was 
the  joy  of  the  men  and  the  envy  of  the  women.  In  fact, 
Donna  was  an  exemplified  copy  of  that  distinctive  personal 
ity  with  which  we  unconsciously  invest  any  young  woman 
upon  whose  capable  shoulders  must  fall  such  multifarious 
duties  as  those  already  described;  particularly  when,  as  in 
Donna's  case,  they  are  accepted  and  disposed  of  with  the 
gentle,  kindly,  interested  yet  impersonal  manner  of  one 
who  loves  her  little  world  enough  to  be  a  very  distinct  part 
of  it ;  yet,  seeing  it  in  its  true  light,  manages  to  hold  her 
self  aloof  from  it ;  unconsciously  conveying  to  one  meeting 
her  for  the  first  time  the  impression  that  she  was  in  San 
Pasqual  on  her  own  sufferance — a  sort  of  strayling  from 
another  world  who  had  picked  upon  the  lonely  little  desert 
town  as  the  scene  of  her  sphere  of  action  for  something  of 
the  same  reason  that  prompts  other  people  to  collect  postage 
stamps  or  rare  butterflies. 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  Donna  Corblay  was  an 
institution.  That  is  quite  true.  She  was  the  mistress  of 
the  Hat  Ranch. 

This  last  statement  requires  elucidation.  Just  what  is 
a  hat  ranch?  you  ask.  It  is — a  hat  ranch.  There  is  only 
one  Hat  Ranch  on  earth  and  it  may  be  found  a  half  mile 
south  of  San  Pasqual,  a  hundred  yards  back  from  the 
tracks.  Donna  Corblay  owned  it,  worked  it  in  her  spare 
moments  and  made  it  pay. 

You  see,  San  Pasqual  lies  just  south  of  Tehachapi  pass, 
and  about  five  days  in  every  week,  the  year  round,  the 
north  wind  comes  whistling  down  the  pass.  When  it 
strikes  the  open  desert  it  appears  to  become  possessed  of 
an  almost  human  disposition  to  spurt  and  get  by  San  Pas 
qual  as  quickly  as  possible.  Hence,  when  the  tourist  ap 
proaching  the  station  sticks  h.is  head  out  of  the  window  or 
unwisely  remains  on  the  platform  of  the  observation  car, 
this  forty-mile  "zephyr,"  as  they  term  it  in  San  Pasqual, 


38  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

sighs  joyously  past  him,  snatches  his  headgear,  whirls  it 
down  the  tracks  and  deposits  it  at  the  western  boundary 
of  Donna's  "ranch."  This  boundary  happens  to  be  a 
seven-foot  adobe  wall — so  the  hat  sticks  there. 

In  the  days  when  Donna  lived  at  the  Hat  Ranch  she 
would  pause  at  this  wall  every  evening  on  her  way  home 
from  work  long  enough  to  gather  up  the  orphaned  hats 
Later,  after  cleaning  and  brushing  them,  she  would  sell 
them  to  the  boys  up  in  San  Pasqual.  There  was  a  wide 
variety  of  style,  size  and  color  in  Donna's  stock  of  hats, 
and  fastidious  indeed  was  he  who  could  not  select  from  the 
lot  a  hat  to  match  his  peculiar  style  of  masculine  beauty. 
And,  furthermore:  damned  was  he  who  so  far  forgot  tra 
dition  and  local  custom  as  to  purchase  his  ' '  every-day ' '  hat 
elsewhere.  He  might  buy  his  Sunday  hat  in  Bakersfield  or 
Los  Angeles  and  still  retain  caste,  but  his  every-day  hat — 
never!  Such  a  proceeding  would  have  been  construed  by 
Donna's  admirers  as  a  direct  attack  on  home  industry.  In 
fact,  one  made  money  by  purchasing  his  hats  of  Donna 
Corblay.  If  she  never  accepted  less  than  one  dollar  for  a 
hat,  regardless  of  age,  color,  original  price  and  previous 
condition  of  servitude,  she  never  charged  more.  Hence, 
everybody  was  satisfied — or,  if  not  satisfied  at  the  time,  all 
they  had  to  do  was  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  next  train. 
The  "zephyrs"  were  steady  and  reliable  and  in  San  Pas 
qual  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  doesn't  blow  somebody  a  hat. 

In  San  Pasqual  stray  hats  were  not  looked  upon  as 
flotsam  and  jetsam  and  subject  to  a  too  liberal  interpreta- 
jtion  of  the  "Losers-weepers-finders-keepers"  rule.  There 
was  a  dead-line  for  hats  beyond  which  no  gentleman  would 
venture,  for,  after  a  hat  had  once  blown  beyond  the  town 
limits  it  was  no  longer  a  maverick  and  subject  to  branding, 
but  on  the  other  hand  was  the  absolute,  undeniable  and 
legal  property  of  Donna  Corblay. 

So  much  for  the  hats.  As  for  the  ranch  itself,  it  wasn't, 
properly  speaking,  a  ranch  at  all.  It  was  a  low,  four-room 
adobe  house  with  a  lean-to  kitchen  built  of  boards.  It  ha<* 


39 

a  dirt  roof  and  iron-barred  windows  and  in  the  rear  there 
was  a  long  rectangular  patio  with  a  fountain  and  a  flower 
garden.  In  fact,  the  ranch  was  more  of  a  fortress  than  a 
dwelling-place  and  was  surrounded  by  an  adobe  wall  which 
enclosed  about  an  acre  of  the  Mojave  desert.  Originally  it 
had  been  the  habitation  of  a  visionary  who  wandered  into 
San  Pasqual,  established  the  ranch  and  sunk  an  artesian 
well.  "With  irrigation  the  rich  alluvial  soil  of  the  desert 
will  grow  anything,  and  the  original  owner  planned  to 
raise  garden-truck  and  cater  to  the  local  trade.  He  pros 
pered,  but  being  of  that  vast  majority  of  humankind  to 
wrhom  prosperity  proves  a  sort  of  mental  hobble,  he  made 
up  his  mind  one  day  to  go  prospecting.  So  he  wrote  out  a 
notice,  advertising  the  property  for  sale,  and  tacked  it  to 
a  telegraph  pole  in  front  of  the  eating-house. 

Alas  for  the  frailty  and  suspicion  of  human  nature ! 
The  self-centered  and  self-satisfied  citizens  of  San  Pasqual 
had  condemned  the  vegetable  venture  from  the  start.  It 
had  been  too  radical  a  departure  from  the  desert  order  of 
things,  and  the  fact  that  a  mere  stranger  had  conceived  the- 
idea  sufficed  to  damn  the  enterprise  even  with  those  who 
gloried  in  the  convenience  of  fresh  vegetables;  while  the 
fact  that  the  vegetable  culturist  was  now  about  to  leave 
branded  the  experiment  a  failure  and  was  productive  of  a 
chorus  of  "I  told  you  so's."  The  announcement  of  the 
proprietor  of  the  ranch  that  he  would  entertain  offers  on  a 
property  to  which  he  had  no  title  other  than  that  entailed 
in  the  God-given  right  of  every  American  citizen  to  squat 
on  a  piece  of  land  until  he  is  driven  off,  was  received  as  a 
rare  piece  of  humor.  In  disgust  the  founder  of  the  Hat 
Ranch  abandoned  his  vegetable  business,  loaded  his  worldly 
effects  on  two  burros  and  departed,  leaving  the  kitchen 
door  wide  open.  He  never  returned. 

In  the  course  of  time  a  young  woman  with  a  two-months- 
old  daughter  came  to  San  Pasqual  to  accept  the  position  of 
cashier  in  the  eating-house.  The  old  adobe  ranch  was  still 
•deserted — the  kitchen  door  still  wide  open.  It  was  the 


40  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

only  vacant  dwelling  in  San  Pasqual,  and  the  woman  with, 
the  baby  decided  to  move  in.  She  hired  a  Mexican  woman 
to  clean  the  house,  sent  to  Bakersfield  for  some  installment 
furniture  and  to  Los  Angeles  for  some  assorted  seeds. 
About  a  week  later  a  Cahuilla  buck  with  his  squaw  alighted 
from  a  north-bound  train  and  were  met  by  the  woman  with 
the  baby  girl.  That  night  the  entire  party  took  possession 
of  the  Hat  Kanch. 

That  first  mistress  of  the  Hat  Kanch  was  Donna  Corblay's 
mother,  so  before  we  plunge  into  the  heart  of  our  story  and 
present  to  the  reader  Donna  Corblay  as  she  appeared  at 
twenty  years  of  age  behind  the  counter  at  the  eating-house 
on  the  night  that  Bob  McGraw  rode  into  her  life  on  his 
Roman-nosed  mustang,  Friar  Tuck,  a  short  history  of  those 
earlier  years  at  the  Hat  Ranch  will  be  found  to  repay  the 
time  given  to  its  perusal. 

For  more  than  sixteen  years  after  her  arrival  in  San 
Pasqual,  Donna's  mother  had  presided  behind  the  eating* 
house  pay  counter.  She  was  quiet  and  uncommunicative — • 
a  handsome  woman  whose  chief  beauty  lay  in  her  eyes — 
wonderful  for  their  brilliance  and  color  and  the  shadows 
that  lurked  in  them,  like  the  ghosts  of  a  sorrow  ineffable. 
Up  to  the  day  she  died  nobody  in  San  Pasqual  knew  very 
much  about  her — where  she  came  from  or  why  she  came. 
She  gave  no  confidences  and  invited  none.  In  a  general 
way  it  was  known  that  she  was  a  widow.  Her  husband  had 
gone  away  and  never  returned,  and  it  was  a  moot  question 
in  San  Pasqual  whether  the  Widow  Corblay  was  grass  or 
natural.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains  that  the 
absent  one  was  missed  and  that  his  wife  remained  faithful 
to  his  memory,  as  several  frontier  gentlemen,  who  had 
sought  her  hand  in  marriage,  might  have  testified  had  they 
so  desired. 

Mrs.  Corblay  lived  for  her  child,  and  was  accused  of 
being  wantonly  and  sinfully  extravagant  in  her  manner  of 
dressing  this  child.  She  maintained  and  supported  two 
Indian  servants,  which  fact  alone  raised  her  a  notch  or 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  41, 

two  socially  above  the  wives,  sisters  and  daughters  of  the 
railroad  men  and  local  business  men  who  lived  in  the  cot 
tages  west  of  the  tracks.  A  great  many  of  these  estimable 
females  disliked  her  accordingly  and  charged  her  with 
"puttin'  on  airs."  Indeed,  more  than  one  of  them  had 
ventured  the  suggestion  that  Mrs.  Corblay  had  a  past,  and 
that  her  child  was  its  outward  expression.  Of  course,  they 
couldn't  prove  anything,  but — and  there  the  matter  rested, 
abruptly.  That  ''but"  ended  it,  even  as  the  tracks  end  at 
the  bumper  in  a  roundhouse.  One  felt  the  jar  just  the 
same. 

Some  hint  of  this  provincial  interest  in  her  and  her 
affairs  must  have  reached  Mrs.  Corblay  shortly  after  her 
arrival,  so  with  true  feminine  obstinacy  she  declined  to 
alleviate  the  abnormal  curiosity  which  gnawed  at  the  heart 
of  the  little  community.  She  died  as  she  had  lived,  con 
siderable  of  a  mystery,  and  San  Pasqual,  retaining  its 
resentment  of  this  mystery,  visited  its  resentment  upon 
Donna  Corblay  when  Donna,  in  the  course  of  time,  gave 
evidence  that  she,  also,  possessed  an  ultra-feminine,  almost 
heroic  capacity  for  attending  strictly  to  her  own  business 
and  permitting  others  to  attend  to  theirs. 

Early  in  her  occupation  of  the  adobe  ranch  house  Mrs. 
Corblay  had  inaugurated  the  hat  industry,  with  fresh  vege 
tables  as  a  side  line.  The  garden  was  presided  over  by  a 
dolorous  squaw  who  responded  to  the  rather  fanciful  appel 
lation  of  Soft  Wind.  Sam  Singer,  her  buck,  was  a  stolid, 
stodgy  savage,  with  eyes  like  the  slits  in  a  blackberry  pie. 
Originally  the  San  Pasqualians  had  christened  him  ' '  Psalm 
Singer,"  because  of  the  fact  that  once,  during  a  revival 
held  by  an  itinerant  evangelist  in  a  tent  next  door  to  the 
Silver  Dollar  saloon,  the  buck  had  attended  regularly,  at 
tracted  by  the  melody  of  a  little  portable  organ,  the  plain 
tive  strains  of  which  appeared  to  charm  his  heathen  soul. 
An  unorthodox  citizen,  in  the  sheer  riot  of  his  imagination, 
had  saddled  the  buck  with  his  new  name.  It  had  stuck  to 
him,  and  since  in  the  vernacular  psalm  singer  was  pro- 


42  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

nounced ' '  sam  singer, ' '  the  Indian  came  in  time  to  be  known 
by  that  name  and  would  answer  to  none  other. 

Donna  grew  up  slightly  different  from  the  other  little 
girls  in  San  Pasqual.  For  instance :  she  was  never  allowed 
to  play  in  the  dirt  of  the  main  street  with  other  children ; 
she  wore  white  dresses  that  were  always  clean,  new  ribbons 
in  her  hair ;  she  always  carried  a  handkerchief ;  she  attended 
the  little  public  school  with  the  belfry  but  no  bell,  and  her 
mother  trained  her  in  domestic  science  and  the  precepts  of 
religion,  which,  lacking  definite  direction  perhaps  by  reason 
of  the  fact  that  there  was  no  church  in  San  Pasqual,  served, 
nevertheless,  as  a  bulwark  against  the  assaults  of  vice  and 
vulgarity  which,  in  a  frontier  town,  are  very  thinly  veiled. 
As  a  child  she  was  neither  precocious  nor  shy.  From  a 
rather  homely,  long-legged  gangling  girl  of  fourteen  she 
emerged  apparently  by  a  series  of  swift  transitions  into  a 
young  lady  at  sixteen,  giving  promise  of  a  beauty  which 
lay,  not  so  much  in  her  physical  attractions,  which  were 
generous,  but  in  that  easily  discernible  nobility  of  charac 
ter  which  indicates  beauty  of  soul — that  superlative  beauty 
which  entitles  its  possessor  to  be  alluded  to  as  "sweet," 
rather  than  pretty  or  handsome.  At  the  dawn  of  woman 
hood  she  was  a  lovely  little  girl,  kind,  affectionate,  imagina 
tive,  distinctly  virginal, 

— a   flower  .  .  .  born    to    blush   unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

When  Donna  was  nearly  seventeen  years  old  her  mother 
died.  It  was  the  consensus  of  opinion  that  heart  trouble 
had  something  to  do  wdth  it.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Corblay  had 
often  complained  of  pains  in  her  heart  and  was  subject  to 
fainting  spells;  besides  which,  there  was  that  in  her  eyes 
which  seemed  to  predicate  a  heartache  of  many  years' 
standing.  At  any  rate,  she  fainted  at  the  eating-house  one 
day  and  they  carried  her  home.  She  passed  away  very 
quietly  the  same  night,  leaving  an  estate  which  consisted  of 
Donna,  the  two  Indian  servants,  and  a  quantity  of  coin  in 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  43 

a  teapot  in  the  cupboard  at  the  Hat  Ranch  which  upon  in 
vestigation  was  found  to  total  the  stupendous  sum  of  two 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  dollars  and  ninety-five  cents. 

There  was  no  one  except  Donna  to  attend  to  the  funeral 
arrangements,  and  for  eight  hours  following  her  mother's 
death  she  was  too  distracted  to  think  of  anything  but  her 
great  grief.  Soft  Wind  prepared  her  mistress  for  the 
grave  after  a  well-meant  but  primitive  fashion,  while  Sam 
Singer  squatted  all  morning  in  the  sand  in  front  of  the 
compound  and  smoked  innumerable  cigarettes.  Presently 
he  got  up,  went  to  his  own  little  cabin  within  the  enclosure 
and  was  invisible  for  ten  minutes.  "When  he  emerged  he 
was  clad  in  a  new  pair  of  "bull  breeches,"  a  white  stiff- 
bosomed  shirt  without  a  collar  but  with  a  brass  collar  bu 
ton  doing  duty  nevertheless,  while  a  red  silk  handkerchieo., 
with  the  ends  drawn  through  a  ring  fashioned  from  a 
horseshoe  nail,  enveloped  his  swarthy  neck.  He  had  rum 
maged  through  the  stock  of  hats  and  appropriated  a  Grand 
Army  hat  with  cord  and  tassels,  and  arrayed  thus  Sam 
Singer  walked  up  the  tracks  to  San  Pasqual. 

Arrived  here  Sam's  very  appearance  heralded  news  of 
grave  importance  at  the  Hat  Ranch.  Such  extraordinary 
and  unwonted  attention  to  dress  could  portend  but  one  of 
two  things — a  journey  or  a  funeral.  Inasmuch,  however, 
as  Sam  was  coatless  and  Mrs.  Corblay  had  been  carried 
home  ill  the  day  before,  San  Pasqual  allowed  itself  one 
guess  and  won. 

To  those  who  sought  to  question  him,  however,  Sam 
Singer  had  nothing  more  polite  than  a  tribal  grunt.  He 
proceeded  directly  to  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon,  where  he 
held  converse  with  a  man  who  seemed  much  interested  in 
the  news  which  Sam  had  to  impart,  for  he  nodded  gravely 
several  times,  gave  Sam  fifty  cents  and  a  cigar  and  then 
hurried  around  to  the  public  telephone  station  in  "Doc" 
Taylor's  drug  store. 

Five  minutes  later,  by  some  mysterious  person,  Mrs» 
Oaniel  Pennycook,  wife  of  the  yardmaster,  was  informed 


44  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

over  the  telephone  that  Donnie  Corblay's  mother  was  dead 

"So  I  understand"  replied  Mrs.  Pennycook  volubly. 
"Poor  thing!  There  was  always  somethm'  so  mysterious 
like  about — " 

The  use  of  the  word  "like"  was  habit  with  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook.  She  rarely  took  a  decided  stand  in  anything  except 
Mr.  Pennycook,  and  always  modified  her  modifying  adjec 
tive  with  the  word  "like";  an  annoying  practice  which 
had  always  rendered  her  an  object  of  terror  to  Mrs.  Cor- 
blay.  To  the  latter  it  always  seemed  as  if  Mrs.  Pennycook 
was  desirous  of  saying  something  nasty,  but  lacked  the 
courage  to  come  out  flatfooted  with  it. 

Her  unknown  informant  interrupted,  or  attempted  to 
interrupt,  but  Mrs.  Pennycook  was  now  started  on  her 
favorite  topic,  in  such  haste  that  she  failed  to  give  the 
customary  telephonic  challenge: 

"Who's  speaking,  please?" 

She  continued.  "Yes,  she  was  kinder  quiet  like  an* 
kept  to  herself  like — " 

"Well,"  said  the  unknown,  "she's  dead  now,  and  that 
little  daughter  o'  hers  is  all  alone  down  there  with  her 
Indian  woman.  If  you  knew  Mrs.  Corblay  was  dead,  why 
in  blue  blazes  didn't  you  or  some  other  woman  in  this 
heartless  village  go  down  there  and  comfort  that  child? 
I've  asked  three  o*  your  neighbors  already,  but  they're 
washin'  or  dustin'  or  cookin'  or  somethin'." 

"I  was  so  terrible  shocked  like  when  I  heard  it — " 

"Well,  if  the  shock's  over,  for  decency's  sake,  Mrs. 
Pennycook,  go  down  to  the  Hat  Ranch  and  keep  that  little 
girl  comp'ny  till  this  afternoon." 

"Who's  talkin'?"  demanded  Mrs.  Pennycook  belliger 
ently. 

"I  am." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Nobody!" 

For  several  seconds  Mrs.  Pennycook  shot  questions  into 
the  transmitter,  but  receiving  no  response  she  hung  up, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  45 

furious  at  having  been  denied  the  inalienable  right  of  her 
sex  to  the  last  word.  Shortly  thereafter  her  worthy 
spouse,  Dan  Pennycook,  came  in  for  his  lunch.  To  him 
Mrs.  Pennycook  imparted  the  tale  of  the  strange  man  who 
had  rung  her  up,  demanding  that  she  go  down  to  the  Hat 
Ranch  and  see  Donnie  Corblay.  Pennycook  *s  stupid  good- 
natured  face  clouded. 

"Then,"  he  demanded,  "why  don't  you  do  it?  I've 
been  workin'  with  that  string  of  empties  below  town  all 
mornin',  an'  if  any  woman  in  this  charitable  community 
passed  me  goin'  to  the  Hat  Ranch  I  didn't  see  her.  It's 
a  shame.  Put  on  your  other  things  right  after  lunch, 
Arabella,  an'  go  down.  I'll  go  with  you." 

"But  the  gall  o'  the  man,  askin'  me  to  do  this!  I  in 
tended  goin'  anyhow,  but  him  ringin'  me  up  so  sudden 
like,  I—" 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Pennycook,  "he  paid  you  a  com 
pliment.  ' ' 

"Humph"  responded  Mrs.  Pennycook.  Then  she 
sniffed.  She  continued  to  sniff  at  intervals  during  the 
meal;  she  was  still  sniffing  when  later  she  joined  her  hus 
band  At  £he  front  gate  and  set  off  with  him  down  the 
tracks  to  the  Hat  Ranch. 

Arrived  at  the  Hat  Ranch  Mrs.  Pennycook  saw  at  once 
that  Donna  was  "too  upset  like"  to  have  any  of  the  de 
tails  of  her  mother's  funeral  thrust  upon  her.  Here  was 
a  situation  which  required  the  supervision  of  a  calm,  execu 
tive  person — Mrs.  Daniel  Pennycook,  for  instance.  At  any 
rate  Mrs.  Pennycook  decided  to  take  charge.  She  was 
first  on  the  scene  and  naturally  the  task  was  hers,  not  only 
as  a  matter  of  principle  but  also  by  right  of  discovery. 

Now,  under  the  combined  attentions  of  Donna,  Mrs. 
Corblay  and  Soft  "Wind,  the  house,  while  primitive,  had, 
nevertheless,  been  made  comfortable  and  kept  immaculate. 
But  there  is  a  superstition  rampant  in  all  provincial  com 
munities  which  dictates  that  the  first  line  of  action  to  be 
pursued  when  there  is  a  death  in  the  family  is  to  scrub  the 


46  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

house  thoroughly  from  cellar  to  garret,  and  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook  had  been  inoculated  with  the  virus  of  this  superstition 
very  early  in  life.  She  tucked  up  her  skirts,  seized  a 
broom  and  a  mop,  rounded  up  Soft  "Wind  and  proceeded 
to  produce  chaos  where  neatness  and  order  had  alwayg 
reigned. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Donna  Corblay  first  gave 
evidence  of  having  a  mind  of  her  own.  She  dried  her  tears 
and  gently  but  firmly  informed  Mrs.  Pennycook  that  the 
house  had  been  thoroughly  cleaned  and  scrubbed  three 
days  previous.  She  begged  Mrs.  Pennycook  to  desist. 
Mrs.  Pennycook  desisted,  for  if  Donna  couched  her  re 
quest  in  the  language  of  entreaty,  her  young  eyes  flashed 
a  stern  command,  and  Mrs.  Pennycook  was  not  deficient 
in  the  intuition  of  her  sex.  So  she  composed  herself  in  a 
rocking  chair  and  by  blunt  brutal  questioning  presently 
ascertained  that  Mrs.  Corblay  had  left  her  daughter  two 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  dollars  and  ninety-five  cents. 

This  decided  Mrs.  Pennycook.  She  dilated  upon  the 
importance  of  having  a  clergyman  come  down  from  Bakers- 
field  for  the  funeral,  and  suggested  the  services  (at  the 
metropolitan  rates  usually  accorded  such  functionaries)  of 
the  local  alleged  quartette,  which  regularly  made  night 
hideous  in  San  Pasqual's  lone  barber  shop. 

"It'll  be  kinder  nice  like,  don't  you  think,  Donna?*' 
she  queried. 

Donna  nodded  dubiously. 

"An'  what  was  your  poor  dear  mamma's  church?"  con 
tinued  Mrs.  Pennycook. 

"She  didn't  have  any"  Donna  answered,  truthfully 
enough. 

Again  Mrs.  Pennycook  sniffed.  "Well,  then,  I  suppose 
Mr.  Tillingham,  of  the  Universal  Church — " 

Donna  interrupted.  "Mamma  always  knew  she  would 
be  taken  from  me  without  warning,  and  she  often  told  me 
not  to  give  her  an  expensive  funeral.  I  think  she  would 
have  liked  some  services  but  I  can't  afford  them." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  47 

"But,  dearie,  that's  so  barbarous  like!"  exclaimed  the 
dismayed  Samaritan.  "There  ought  to  be  some  one  to  say 
some  prayers  an'  sing  a  hymn  or  two." 

"Mamma  always  said  she  wanted  to  be  buried  simply. 
She  thought  it  was  sweet  and  beautiful  to  have  services, 
but  not  essential.  She  was  always  skimping  and  saving 
for  me,  Mrs.  Pennycook.  She  said  I  wasn  't  to  wear  mourn 
ing;  that  the — living  needed  more  prayers  than — the — 
dead.  She — she  said  that  when  she  was  gone  God  would 
be  good  to  her  and  that — I — she  said  I  would  need  all 
the  money  we  had." 

"A-a-h-h-h!"  breathed  Mrs.  Pennycook.  She  under 
stood  now.  What  a  baggage  the  girl  was !  How  heartless, 
begrudging  her  poor  dead  mother  the  poor  comfort  of  a 
Christian  burial,  because  she  wanted  the  money  for  her 
self !  Privately  Mrs.  Pennycook  prophesied  a  bad  ending 
for  Donnie  Corblay.  She  winked  knowingly  at  her  hus 
band,  then  with  truly  feminine  sarcasm : 

"Well,  at  least,  Donna,  you'll  have  to  buy  a  coffin  an'  a 
grave  an'  have  the  grave  dug — " 

"Sam  Singer  will  attend  to  that.  I'm  going  to  bury 
mamma  among  the  flowers  at  the  end  of  our  garden.  I'll 
have  a  nice  plain  coffin  made  in  San  Pasqual — " 

"Oh!"     Mrs.  Pennycook  trembled. 

"Mamma  always  said,"  Donna  continued,  "that  under 
takers  preyed  on  the  dead  and  traded  in  human  grief,  and 
for  me  not  to  engage  one  for  her  funeral.  I'm  going  to  do 
just  what  she  told  me  to  do,  Mrs.  Pennycook." 

"Quite  right,  Donnie,  quite  right"  interjected  Mr.  Pen 
nycook.  He  was  an  impulsive  creature  and  even  under 
the  hypnotic  eye  of  Mrs.  P.  he  sometimes  broke  out  of 
bounds. 

"Daniel!     Come!" 

Daniel!  At  the  mention  of  his  Christian  name  Mr.  Pen 
nycook  quivered.  He  knew  he  was  in  for  it  now,  but  he 
didn't  care.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  as  well,  to 
quote  a  homely  proverb,  "be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  a 


48  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

lamb."  He  had  visited  the  Hat  Ranch  to  tender  aid  and 
sympathy,  and  despite  the  impending  visitation  of  his 
wife's  wrath  he  resolved  to  be  reckless  for  once  and  de 
liver  the  goods  in  bulk. 

"Your  poor  mother  was  a  sensible  woman,  Donnie  girl," 
he  told  the  orphan,  "an'  you're  a  dutiful  daughter  to  fol 
low  out  her  last  wishes  under  these — er — deplorable  cir 
cumstances — er — er — I  mean  it's  a  terrible  hard  thing  to 
lose  your  mother,  Donnie,  an' — damme,  Donnie,  I'm  sorry. 
Ton  my  word,  I'm  sorry." 

Mrs.  Pennycook's  lips  moved,  and  while  no  sound  issued 
therefrom,  yet  did  Dan  Pennycook,  out  of  his  many  years 
of  marital  submission,  comprehend  the  unspoken  sentence : 

"Dan  Pennycook,  you're  a  fool!" 

"Ya-a-h"  growled  Mr.  Pennycook,  thoroughly  aroused 
now  and  striving  to  appear  belligerent.  His  wife  silenced! 
him  with  a  look;  then  turned  to  Donna.  She  had  a  duty 
to  perform.  She  was  a  great  woman  for  "principle"  and 
the  performance  of  what  she  conceived  to  be  her  duty. 
She  was  a  well-meaning  but  misguided  person  ordinarily, 
who  loved  a  fight  with  her  own  family  on  the  broad  general 
ground  that  it  denoted  firmness  of  character.  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook  was  so  long  on  virtue  and  character  herself  that  half 
her  life  was  spent  disposing  of  a  portion  of  these  attributes 
to  the  less  fortunate  members  of  her  household. 

She  entered  now  upon  a  calm  yet  stern  discussion  of  the 
perfectly  impossible  proceeding  of  making  a  private  ceme 
tery  out  of  one's  back  yard;  but  Mr.  Pennycook  had  re 
covered  his  poise  and  decided  that  here  was  one  of  those 
rare  occasions  when  it  behooved  him  to  declare  himself — 
by  the  way,  a  very  rare  proceeding  with  Mr.  Pennycook, 
he  being  known  in  San  Pasqual  as  the  original  Mr.  Hen- 
peck. 

"Mrs.  Pennycook,"  he  thundered,  "you  will  please  'tend 
to  your  own  business,  ma'am.  Donnie,  my  dear,  I'm  goin* 
to  wire  Los  Angeles  an'  order  up  a  heap  o'  big  red  roses 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  49 

on  25 — damme,  Mrs.  Pennycook,  what  the  devil  are  you 
lookin'  at,  ma'am?" 

"Nothing"  she  retorted,  although  it  is  a  fact  that  had 
she  been  Medusa  a  singularly  life-like  replica  of  Dan  Pen 
nycook  in  concrete  might  have  been  produced,  upon  which 
the  posterity  of  San  Pasqual  might  gaze  and  be  warned  of 
the  dangers  attendant  upon  mating  with  the  Mrs.  Penny- 
cooks  of  this  world. 

Donna  commenced  to  cry.  Mr.  Pennycook 's  sympathy, 
albeit  checked  and  moderated  to  a  great  extent  by  the  pres 
ence  of  his  wife,  was,  nevertheless,  the  most  genuine  sam 
ple  of  that  rare  commodity  which  she  had  received  up  to 
that  moment.  His  action  had  been  so — brave — so  spon 
taneous — he  knew — he  understood;  Dan  Pennycook  had  a 
soul.  And  besides  he  was  going  to  wire  for  some  red: 
roses — and  O,  how  scarce  were  red  roses  in  San  Pasqual ! 

"0  Mr.  Pennycook,  dear  Mr.  Pennycook"  she  wailed, 
and  sought  instant  refuge  on  his  honest  breast.  She 
placed  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  cried,  and  Mr.  Penny- 
cook  cried  also,  until  his  single  Sunday  handkerchief  was 
used  up — whereat  he  pleaded  dumbly  with  his  wife  for  her 
handkerchief — and  was  refused.  So,  like  some  great  blub 
bering  boy,  he  used  his  fists,  while  Mrs.  Pennycook  looked 
coldly  on,  working  her  lower  lip  and  the  tip  of  her  nose, 
rabbit-fashion,  for  all  the  world  like  one  who,  having  an 
ticipated  a  sniff  of  the  spices  of  Araby,  has  detected  instead! 
a  shocking  aroma  of  corned  beef  and  cabbage. 

It  was  a  queer  tableau,  indeed;  Donna  weeping  on  Mr. 
Pennycook 's  breast,  when  every  instinct  of  her  sex,  even 
the  vaguest  acceptance  of  tradition  and  custom,  dictated 
that  she  should  have  wept  on  Mrs.  Pennycook 's  breast. 
Mrs.  Pennycook  realized  the  incongruity  of  the  situation 
and  was  shrewd  enough  to  attribute  it  to  a  strong  aversion 
to  her  on  the  part  of  Donna  Corblay.  She  resolved  to 
make  them  both  pay  for  her  humiliation — Dan,  within  the 
hour,  Donna  whenever  the  opportunity  should  occur. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEN  Donna  and  Mr.  Pennycook  had  succeeded 
eventually  in  overcoming  their  emotions,  the 
worthy  yardmaster  and  his  wife  took  their  de 
parture.  Mr.  Pennycook  was  compelled  to  return  to  work 
and  something  told  him  that  Donna  would  be  happier 
alone  than  with  Mrs.  Pennycook;  hence  he  made  no  objec 
tion  to  her  leaving  the  Hat  Ranch. 

They  had  scarcely  left  when  the  man  whom  Sam  Singer 
had  consulted  at  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon  earlier  in  the 
day  appeared  from  the  north  angle  of  the  adobe  wall, 
where  he  had  been  lurking,  and  dodged  into  the  Hat  Ranch 
enclosure.  Donna  was  seated  at  the  kitchen  table,  her 
face  in  her  hands,  when  he  arrived.  He  could  see  her 
through  the  open  half-window  of  the  lean-to,  so  he  came 
to  the  window,  thrust  his  head  and  shoulders  in  and 
coughed. 

Donna  raised  her  head  and  gazed  into  the  face  of  the 
worst  man  in  San  Pasqual ! 

This  peculiarly  distinguished  individual  was  Mr.  Harley 
P.  Hennage,  the  proprietor  of  a  faro  game  in  the  Silver 
Dollar  saloon.  He  had  an  impassive,  almost  dull,  face 
(accentuated,  perhaps,  from  much  playing  of  poker  in 
early  life)  which,  at  times,  would  light  up  with  the  shy 
smile  of  a  trustful  child,  revealing  three  magnificent  golden 
upper  teeth.  He  bore  no  more  resemblance  to  the  popular 
conception  of  a  western  gambler  than  does  a  college  pro 
fessor  to  a  coal  passer.  Mr.  Hennage  lived  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  paid  cash  and  hated  jewelry.  He  had  never  been 
known  to  carry  a  derringer  or  a  small,  genteel,  silver-plated 
revolver  in  his  waist-coat  pocket.  Neither  did  he  appear 
in  public  with  a  bowie  knife  down  his  bootleg.  Not  being 

so 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  51 

a  Mexican,  he  did  not  carry  a  knife,  and  besides  he  always 
wore  congress  gaiters.  Owing  to  the  fact  that  he  was  a 
large  florid  sandy  person,  with  a  freckled  bristly  neck  and 
a  singularly  direct  fearless  manner  of  looking  at  his  man 
with  eyes  that  were  small,  sunken,  baleful  and  rather 
piggy,  the  exigencies  of  Mr.  Hennage's  profession  had 
never  even  warranted  recourse  to  his  two  most  priceless 
possessions — his  hands.  Yet,  despite  this  fact,  and  the 
further  fact  that  he  had  never  accomplished  anything 
more  reprehensible  than  staking  his  coin  against  that  of 
his  neighbor,  Mr.  Hennage  had  acquired  the  reputation  of 
being  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual.  In  the  language 
of  the  country,  he  was  a  hard  hombre,  for  he  looked  it. 
When  one  gazed  at  Mr.  Hennage  he  observed  a  human 
bulldog,  a  man  who  would  finish  anything  he  started. 
Hence,  he  was  credited  with  the  ability  and  inclination  to 
do  the  most  impossible  things  if  given  half  an  excuse.  It 
is  needless,  therefore,  to  remark  that  Mr.  Hennage's  de 
pravity,  like  Mrs.  Pennycook's  virtue,  partook  more  or 
less  of  the  nature  of  the  surrounding  country;  that  is  to 
say,  it  was  susceptible  of  development. 

Most  people  in  this  queer  world  of  ours  harbor  an  im 
pression  that  if  you  make  friends  with  a  dog  he  will  not 
bite  you,  and  that  lion  tamers  are  enabled  to  accumulate 
gray  hairs  merely  by  the  exercise  of  nerve  and  the  para 
lyzing  influence  of  the  human  eye.  Hence,  when  the  worst 
man  in  San  Pasqual  confronted  Donna,  she  did  not  at 
once  scream  for  Sam  Singer,  but  looked  Mr.  Hennage  in 
the  eye  and  quavered 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Hennage." 

It  was  hard  work  continuing  to  look  Mr.  Hennage  in  the 
eye.  To-day  he  looked  more  like  a  bulldog  than  ever,  for 
his  oyes  were  red-lidded  and  watery. 

Mr.  Hennage  nodded.  He  drew  a  silk  handkerchief 
from  his  coat  pocket  and  blew  his  nose  with  a  report  like  a 
pistol  shot  before  he  spoke. 

"How's  the  kitty?"  he  demanded. 


52  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Donna  glanced  toward  the  stove  and  about  the  kitchen 
wearily  and  replied. 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Hennage.  I  guess  she's  around  the 
house  somewhere." 

"The  Lord  love  you"  murmured  the  gambler.  The 
hard  lips  lifted,  the  dull  impassive  face  was  lit  for  an  in 
stant  by  the  trustful  childish  smile,  and  through  the  glory 
of  that  infrequent  facial  expression  Harley  P.  's  three  gold 
front  teeth  flashed  like  triple  searchlights. 

"I  mean,  Miss  Corblay,  have  you  any  money?" 

"Only  a  little  bit,  Mr.  Hennage"  Donna  quavered. 
The  question  frightened  her  and  she  hastened  to  assure  the 
bad  man  that  it  was  a  very  little  bit  indeed,  and  all  that 
her  mother  had  been  able  to  save.  She  trembled  lest  the 
monster  might  take  a  notion  to  rob  her  of  even  this  meager 
amount. 

"I  just  had  a  hunch  it  was  that  way  with  you."  The 
worst  man  in  San  Pasqual  wagged  his  great  head,  as  if  to 
compliment  himself  on  his  penetration.  "I  just  knew  it." 

This  was  not  strictly  the  truth.  Sam  Singer  had  man 
aged  to  convey  to  the  gambler  some  hint  of  the  Corblay 
fortunes,  financial  as  well  as  material,  and  had  begged  of 
him  to  exercise  his  superior  white  man  intelligence  to  aid 
the  Indian  in  wrestling  with  this  white  man's  problem 
that  confronted  the  dwellers  at  the  Hat  Ranch.  Bather  a 
queer  source,  indeed,  for  Sam  Singer  to  seek  help  for  his 
young  mistress;  but  then  Sam  was  not  an  educated  abo 
rigine;  he  was  not  given  to  reflecting  upon  the  ethics  of 
any  given  line  of  procedure.  The  fact  of  the  matter  was 
that  Harley  P.  Hennage  was  the  only  white  man  in  San 
Pasqual  who  deigned  to  honor  Sam  Singer  with  a  greeting 
and  his  cast-off  shoes.  In  return  Sam  had  honored  Harley 
P.  with  his  confidence  and  an  appeal  to  him  for  further  aid. 

"I  have  attended  to  everything"  continued  Mr.  Hen 
nage.  "Preacher,  quartette  from  Bakersfield — they're  real 
good,  too.  Playin'  in  a  theater  up  there,  but  I  engaged  to 
g(t  'em  back  in  time  for  the  evenin'  performance  on  a  spar 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  53 

cial  train — so  they  said  they'd  come.  An'  I've  ordered  an 
elegant  coffin,  the  best  they  had  in  stock,  with  a  floral  piece 
from  Sam  Singer  an'  his  squaw  an'  a  piller  o'  white  car 
nations  with  'Mother*  in  violets — from  you,  understand? 
Everything  the  best,  spick  an'  span  an'  no  cost  to  the 
estate.  Compliments  o'  Harley  P.  Hennage,  Miss  Donna." 
He  paused  and  rubbed  his  hairy  freckled  hands  together 
in  an  embarrassed  manner.  ''I  hope  you  won't  think  I'm 
actin'  forward,  because  I  ain't  one  o'  the  presumin'  kind. 
I  just  wanted  to  do  somethin'  to  help  out  because — your 
mother  was  a  very  lovely  lady.  Three  times  a  day  for  ten 
years  she  give  me  my  change  an'  there  never  was  a  time 
when  she  didn't  have  a  decent,  kindly  word  for  me — the 
only  good  woman  in  this  town  that  'd  look  at  me — God  bless 
her!  Mum's  the  word,  Miss  Donnie.  Don't  let  nobody 
know  I  did  it,  because  it'd  hurt  your  reputation.  And 
don't  tell  Mrs.  Pennycook!  Pennycook's  a  clean,  decent 
old  sport,  but  look  out  for  the  missus!"  Here  Mr.  Hen 
nage  lowered  his  voice,  glanced  cautiously  around  to  make 
certain  that  he  would  not  be  overheard  by  Mrs.  Pennycook, 
leaned  further  in  the  window  and  improvising  a  mega 
phone  with  his  hands,  whispered  hoarsely  the  damning 
words:  "She  talks!" 

Donna  nodded.  For  a  long  time  she  had  suspected  Mrs. 
Pennycook  of  this  very  practice. 

''I've  got  to  light  out  now"  Mr.  Hennage  continued. 
"Polks '11  wonder  if  they  see  me  hangin'  around  here. 
But  before  I  go  I  want  to  tell  you  somethin '.  Your  mother 
was  a-countin'  out  my  change  yesterday  when  she  got  took. 
She  thought  she  was  goin'  then  on  account  o'  the  pain 
bein'  sharper  than  common,  an'  she  cries  out:  'Donnie! 
Donnie!  My  baby,  whatever  is  a-goin*  to  become  o'  you 
when  I'm  gone!'  I  was  the  only  one  that  heard  her  say 
it.  I  caught  her  when  she  was  fallin',  an'  I  told  her  I'd 
see  that  you  didn't  lack  for  nothin'  while  I  lived  an'  that 
I'd  keep  an  eye  on  you  an'  see  that  nothin'  wrong  hap 
pened  to  you.  Your  mother  couldn't  speak  none  then, 


'54  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Miss  Donnie,  but  she  give  my  hand  a  little  press  to  show 
she  was  on  an'  that  whatever  I  did  was  done  with  her  say-so. 
Consequently,  Miss  Donnie,  any  time  you  need  a  friend  you 
just  ring  up  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon  an'  tell  the  barkeep 
to  call  Hennage  to  the  'phone.  Remember!  I  ain't  the 
presumin'  kind,  but  I  can  be  a  good  friend — " 

He  dodged  back  as  if  somebody  had  struck  at  him.  Be 
fore  Donna  could  quite  realize  what  he  had  been  saying 
he  had  disappeared.  She  ran  to  the  iron-barred  gate,  looked 
out  and  saw  him  walking  up  the  railroad  tracks  toward 
San  Pasqual.  She  called  after  him.  He  turned,  waved  his 
hand  and  continued  on — a  great  fat  bow-legged  common 
place  figure  of  a  man,  mopping  his  high  bald  forehead — 
a  plain,  lowly  citizen  of  uncertain  morals ;  a  sordid  money- 
snatcher  coming  forth  from  his  den  of  iniquity  to  mas 
querade  for  an  hour  as  the  Angel  of  Hope,  and  returning — 
hopeless. 

For  the  last  tie  that  bound  Harley  P.  Hennage  to  San 
Pasqual  was  severed.  His  soul  was  not  mediocre ;  he  could 
dwell  no  longer  in  San  Pasqual  without  feeling  himself 
accursed.  Never  again  could  he  bear  to  sit  on  his  high 
stool  at  the  lunch  counter  in  the  railroad  eating-house, 
where  he  had  boarded  for  ten  years,  and  watch  a  stranger 
taking  cash.  He  had  watched  Donna's  mother  so  long  that 
the  vigil  had  become  a  part  of  his  being — a  sort  of  religious 
ceremony — and  in  this  little  tragedy  of  life  no  understudy 
could  ever  star  for  Harley  P.  Her  beautiful  sad  eyes  were 
closed  forever  now  and  the  tri-daily  joy  of  his  sordid  exist 
ence  had  vanished. 

What  little  things  go  to  make  up  the  big  pleasures  of 
life !  "Who  could  guess,  for  instance,  that  the  simple  deceit 
of  presenting  a  twenty-dollar  piece  in  payment  of  a  fifty- 
cent  meal  check  had  held  for  Harley  P.  a  greater  joy  than 
the  promise  of  ultimate  salvation  ?  Yet  it  had ;  for  during 
the  slight  wait  at  the  pay  counter  while  the  cashier  counted 
out  his  change  he  had  been  privileged  to  view  her  at  close 
quarters,  to  mark  the  contour  of  her  nose,  to  note  the  win 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  55 

ning  sweetness  of  her  tender  mouth,  to  hearken  to  the  music 
of  her  low  voice  counting  out  the  dollars,  and,  perchance, 
saying  something  commonplace  himself  as  he  gathered  up 
his  change!  Yet  that  had  been  sufficient  to  make  of  San 
Pasqual  a  paradise  for  Harley  P.  He  knew  his  limita 
tions;  he  had  presumed  but  once,  long  enough  to  ask  the 
cashier  to  marry  him.  Her  refusal  had  made  him  worship 
her  the  more,  only  he  worshiped  thereafter  in  silence  and 
from  afar.  She  had  not  laughed  at  him  nor  scorned  him 
nor  upbraided  him,  lowly  worm  that  he  was,  for  daring  to 
hope  that  he  might  be  good  enough  for  her!  No.  She 
had  told  him  about  her  husband,  who  had  gone  prospecting 
and  never  returned;  of  Sain  Singer  who  had  been  rescued 
on  the  desert  when  close  to  death,  of  his  return  with  a 
wild  story  of  much  gold  and  a  man,  whose  name  he  did 
not  know,  who  had  killed  her  husband  and  escaped  with  the 
gold.  She  respected  Mr.  Hennage,  she  admired  him,  she 
knew  he  was  good  and  kind — and  she  did  not  refer  to  his 
method  of  making  a  living.  She  merely  laid  her  soft  hand 
Cn  his,  as  he  reached  for  his  nineteen  dollars  and  a  half 
change,  and  said: 

"Do  you  understand,  Harley?" 

Yes,  she  had  called  him  Harley  that  day,  and  he  had 
understood.  Her  heart  was  out  in  the  desert.  He  took 
the  terrible  blow  with  a  smile  and  a  flash  of  his  gold  teeth, 
and  never  referred  to  his  secret  again. 

He  thought  of  her  now,  as  he  waddled  back  to  his  neg 
lected  game  in  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon.  He  wished  that 
he  might  have  been  privileged  to  admittance  into  that  little 
room  off  the  kitchen  where  something  told  him  she  was 
lying;  he  wished  that  he  might  see  her  once  again  before 
they  buried  her — but  that  would  be  presuming.  He  wished 
he  knew  of  some  plan  whereby  that  poor  body  might  be 
spared  the  degradation  of  interment  in  the  lonely,  wind 
swept,  desert  cemetery,  side  by  side  with  Indians,  Mexi 
cans,  Greek  section  hands  and  the  rude  forefathers  of  San 
Pasqual. 


56  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"What  a  profanation!  That  horrible  cemetery,  sur 
rounded  by  a  fence  of  barbed  wire  and  superannuated  rail 
road  ties,  to  receive  that  beloved  clay.  He  pictured  her  as 
he  had  seen  her  every  day  for  ten  years,  and  a  rush  of  vain 
regret  brought  the  big  tears  to  his  buttermilk  eyes;  the 
chords  of  memory  twanged  in  his  breast  and  he  paused* 
on  the  outskirts  of  San  Pasqual  with  hands  upraised,  fists 
clenched  in  an  agony  of  desperation. 

"I  can't  stand  it"  he  muttered.  "I  can't.  It'll  be 
lonely.  I've  got  to  get  out.  I'll  close  my  game  after  the 
funeral  an'  vamose." 

But  to  return  to  affairs  at  the  Hat  Ranch. 

While  Harley  P.  Hennage  sat  in  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon 
that  afternoon  dealing  faro  automatically  and  pondering 
the  problem  of  the  precise  purpose  for  which  he  had  been 
created;  and  while  Mrs.  Pennycook  went  from  house  to 
house  west  of  the  tracks,  expounding  her  personal  view  of 
the  extraordinary  situation  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  a  south-bound 
train  pulled  in  and  discharged  a  trained  nurse,  an  under 
taker,  a  rectangular  redwood  box  and  more  floral  pieces 
than  San  Pasqual  had  seen  in  a  decade.  After  instituting 
some  inquiries  as  to  its  location,  the  nurse  and  the  under 
taker  proceeded  to  the  Hat  Ranch,  followed  by  a  wagon 
bearing  the  box  and  the  flowers. 

But  why  dilate  on  these  mournful  details?  Suffice  the 
fact  that  Mrs.  Corblay  was  laid  away  next  morning  in  con 
formity  with  the  wishes  of  the  only  human  being  who  had 
any  right  to  express  a  wish  in  the  matter.  The  Bakersfield 
quartette  was  there  and  sang  "Lead,  Kindly  Light"  and 
"Nearer  My  God  To  Thee";  the  Bakersfield  minister  was 
there  and  read:  "I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life"; 
Soft  Wind  threw  ashes  on  her  head  and  cried  in  the  Ca- 
huilla  tongue,  "Ai!  Ai !  Beloved,"  after  the  manner  of  her 
people,  while  Sam  Singer  stood  at  the  head  of  the  grave 
like  a  figure  done  in  bronze.  Dan  Pennycook  was  there, 
supporting  Donna,  and  made  a  spectacle  of  himself.  Mrs. 
Pennycook  was  there — and  superintended  the  disposal  of 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  57 

the  flowers  on  the  grave ;  in  fact,  all  San  Pasqual  was  there, 
with  the  exception  of  Harley  P.  Hennage — and  nobody 
wondered  why  he  wasn't  there.  It  was  well  known  that  he 
was  not  one  of  the  presuming  kind  and  had  nothing  in 
common  with  respectable  people.  And  when  it  was  all 
over,  the  San  Pasqualians  went  their  several  ways,  assum 
ing — if,  indeed,  such  an  assumption  did  occur  to  any  of 
them — that  the  unknown  who  had  provided  these  expensive 
obsequies  would  without  doubt  provide  for  Donna  also. 

That  night  as  Donna  lay  awake  in  bed,  grieving  silently 
and  striving  to  adjust  herself  to  a  philosophical  view  of  the 
situation,  she  heard  the  front  gate  open  and  close  very 
softly ;  then  slow,  stealthy  footsteps  passed  on  the  brick  walk 
around  the  house  and  down  the  patio  to  the  end  of  the  gar 
den.  It  was  very  late.  Donna  wondered  who  could  be 
visiting  the  Hat  Ranch  at  such  an  hour,  for  No.  25,  which 
was  due  in  San  Pasqual  at  midnight,  had  just  gone  thun 
dering  by.  She  crept  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

Beside  the  flower-covered  mound  at  the  end  of  the  garden 
»  man  was  kneeling,  with  the  moonlight  casting  his  gro 
tesque  shadow  on  the  blossoms.  Presently  he  stood  up,  and 
Donna  saw  that  he  had  detached  one  of  Dan  Pennycook's 
big  red  roses  and  was  reverently  hiding  it  away  in  his  breast 
pocket.  Standing  hidden  in  the  darkness  of  her  room, 
Donna  could  see  Harley  P.'s  face  distinctly  as  he  came 
down  the  moonlit  patio.  The  terrible  mouth  was  quivering 
pitifully,  tears  bedimmed  the  little,  deep-set,  piggy  eye? 
to  such  an  extent  that  Harley  P.  groped  before  him  with  one 
great,  freckled,  hairy  hand  outstretched.  He  passed  her 
open  window. 

' '  My  love !  My  love ! ' '  she  heard  him  mutter,  and  then 
the  slow  stealthy  footsteps  passed  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  and  died  away  in  the  distance.  Harley  P.  Hennage 
had  said  his  farewell  to  happiness.  He  was  an  outcast  now, 
a  soul  accursed,  fleeing  from  the  soul-crushing  loneliness 
and  desolation  of  San  Pasqual. 

When  two  weeks  had  passed,  the  nurse  so  thoughtfully 


5  8  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

provided  by  the  gambler  that  Donna  Corblay  might  not  be 
obligated  even  to  the  slight  extent  of  companionship  and 
comfort  during  that  trying  period  to  the  women  of  San 
Pasqual,  returned  to  Bakersfield.  In  the  interim  Donna 
had  been  offered,  and  had  accepted,  the  position  at  the 
railroad  hotel  and  eating-house  so  long  held  by  her  mother. 
It  was  a  good  position.  The  salary  was  sixty  dollars  a 
month.  With  this  princely  stipend  and  the  revenue  from 
the  Hat  Ranch,  and  feeling  perfectly  safe  under  the  watch 
ful  eyes  of  Sam  Singer  and  Soft  "Wind,  Donna  faced  her 
little  world  at  seventeen  years  of  age  in  blissful  ignorance 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  marked  in  San  Pasqual. 

She  had  committed  two  crimes.  In  the  matter  of  her 
mother's  funeral  she  had  scorned  the  advice  of  her  elders 
and  had  dared  to  overthrow  ancient  custom;  and — ridicu 
lous  as  the  statement  may  appear — she  had  aroused  in  Mrs. 
Pennycook  the  demon  of  jealousy!  It  is  a  fact.  In  the 
bigness  of  his  simple  heart  the  yardmaster  had  yielded  up 
to  Donna  a  spontaneous  portion  of  tenderness  and  sym 
pathy,  which  first  amazed  Mrs.  Pennycook,  because  she 
never  suspected  her  husband  of  being  such  an  ' '  old  softy, ' ' 
and  then  enraged  her  when  she  reflected  that  never  since 
their  honeymoon  had  Dan  shown  her  anything  more  than 
the  prosaic  consideration  of  the  unimaginative  married  man 
for  an  unimaginative  wife. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mrs.  Pennycook  that  she  had  not 
sought  to  bring  out  these  qualities  in  her  husband  by  a 
display  of  affection  on  her  part.  It  never  occurred  to  her 
that  Dan  Pennycook  was  a  homely,  ordinary,  rather  dull 
fellow,  in  dirty  overalls  and  in  perpetual  need  of  a  shave ; 
that  Donna  was  a  beauty  who  could  afford  to  pick  and 
choose  from  a  score  of  eager  lovers.  She  only  knew  that 
Donna  had  aroused  in  Dan  Pennycook  the  flames  of  revolt 
against  the  lawful  domination  of  his  lawful  wife;  that  he 
was  of  the  masculine  gender  and  would  bear  watching. 
Miss  Molly  Pickett,  the  postmistress,  whose  official  duties 
were  not  so  onerous  as  to  preclude  the  perusal  of  every 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  5$ 

postal  card  that  passed  through  her  hands  (in  addition  to 
an  occasional  letter,  for  Miss  Molly  was  not  above  the  use 
of  a  steam  kettle  and  her  own  stock  of  mucilage),  was  Mrs. 
Penny  cook's  dearest  friend  and  her  authority  for  the  knowl- 
edge  that  while  all  men  will  bear  watching,  married  men 
will  bear  a  most  minute  scrutiny.  Mrs.  Pennycook  knew 
that  as  a  wife  she  was  approaching  the  unlovely  age  when 
fickle  husbands  tire  and  cast  about  for  younger  and  pret 
tier  women.  Hence  she  decided  to  trim  her  mental  lamps 
and  light  the  dastard  Daniel  out  of  temptation. 

Her  first  move  was  a  master-stroke  of  feminine  genius. 
She  issued  an  order  to  her  husband  to  buy  no  more  hats 
of  Donna  Corblay. 

Three  loud  cheers  for  Mr.  Pennycook !  He  revolted.  He 
did  more.  He  turned  on  Mrs.  Pennycook — he  shook  a 
smutty  finger  under  her  nose.  He  said  something.  He 
said  he  would  see  her,  Mrs.  Pennycook,  further — in  fact, 
considerably  further — than  that!  All  of  which  was  very 
rude  and  vulgar  of  Mr.  Pennycook,  we  must  admit,  but — 

And  now  our  stage  is  set  at  last ;  so  assuming  three  years 
to  have  passed,  behold  the  curtain  rising,  discovering 
Donna  Corblay  behind  the  cashier's  counter  in  the  railroad; 
eating-house  in  the  little  desert  hamlet  of  San  Pasqual. 

It  is  a  different  Donna  that  confronts  us  now,  and  the 
first  glimpse  is  almost  sufficient  to  cause  us  to  view  with  a 
more  complacent  eye  the  mental  travail  of  any  married 
lady  whose  husband  might  be  exposed  to  the  battery  of 
Donna's  eyes. 

Such  wonderful  eyes!  Dark  blue,  wide  apart,  intelli 
gent,  tender,  with  a  trick  of  peeping  up  at  one  from  under 
the  long  black  lashes,  and  conveying  such  a  medley  of  pro 
found  emotions  that  it  is  small  wonder  that  men — and 
occasionally  women — forgot  their  change  in  the  excitement 
of  gazing  upon  this  superior  attraction. 

In  his  old  favorite  seat  down  at  the  end  of  the  lunch 
counter  we  see  Mr.  Harley  P.  Hennage  partaking  of  hia 


60  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

evening  meal.  He  has  been  away  from  San  Pasqual  for 
three  years,  and  he  has  just  returned.  Also  he  has  just 
decided  to  remain  (for  reasons  best  known  to  himself), 
although  we  may  be  pardoned  for  presuming  that  it  may  be 
because  he  sees  an  old,  tender  memory  reflected  in  Donna's 
eyes.  Quien  sabe?  He  is  older,  homelier,  sandier  than 
when  we  saw  him  last,  and  he  has  gambled  much.  So  we 
can't  read  anything  in  his  face.  Moreover,  we  do  not 
care  to.  Instinctively  our  gaze  reverts  to  Donna,  for  the 
day 's  work  is  finished,  she  had  proved  her  cash  and  is  about 
to  go  home  to  the  Hat  Ranch. 

She  is  a  woman  now,  a  glorious,  healthy,  athletic  crea 
ture,  with  wavy  hair,  very  fine  and  thick  and  black,  and 
glossy  as  polished  ebony.  Her  face  is  tanned  and  glowing, 
and  the  halo  of  brilliant  black  hair  only  serves  to  accentuate 
the  glow  and  to  remind  us  of  an  exquisite  cameo  set  in  jet. 
She  is  taller  by  three  inches  than  the  average  woman, 
broad-shouldered,  full-breasted,  slim-waisted,  a  figure  to 
haunt  a  sculptor 's  memory. 

She  is  dressed  in  a  wash  frock  of  light  blue  material, 
with  a  low  sailor  collar  that  shows  to  bewildering  effect 
her  strong  full  throat.  She  wears  a  flowing  black  silk 
navy  reefer  and  when  she  puts  on  her  hat  prior  to  leaving 
we  realize  that  she  has  not  studied  male  head-gear  alone, 
but  has  taken  advantage  of  her  semi-public  position  to  copy 
styles  and  to  glean  from  the  women's  magazines,  on  sale 
at  the  counter,  the  latest  hints  in  metropolitan  millinery. 

This  is  the  Donna  Corblay  that  faces  us  this  September 
evening.  She  has  developed  from  a  girl  into  a  woman,  and 
we  wonder  if  her  mind,  her  soul,  has  had  equal  development, 
or  has  it  slowly  starved  in  her  unlovely  and  commonplaee 
surroundings? 

It  has  not.  Donna  has  never  been  away  from  San  Pas- 
qual  since  the  day  she  entered  it  a  babe  in  arms,  but — she 
presides  over  the  news  counter  in  addition  to  her  other 
duties.  Here  she  has  access  to  all  the  latest  "best-sellers," 
also  the  big  national  magazines,  and  through  these  means 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  61 

she  has  kept  pace  with  a  world  that  is  continually  passing 
her  by  in  Pullman  sleepers.  To  her  has  been  given  the 
glorious  gift  of  imagination,  and  dull,  sordid,  lonely  San 
Pasqual,  squatting  there  in  the  desert  sands,  cannot  rob  her 
of  her  dreams.  Rather  has  she  grown  to  tolerate  the  place, 
for  at  her  will  she  can  summon  up  a  host  of  unreal  people 
to  throng  its  dreary  single  street;  she  can  metamorphose 
the  w7ater  tank  into  a  sky-scraper,  the  long  red  lines  of  box 
cars  on  the  sidings  into  rows  of  stately  mansions.  She  reads 
and  dreams  much,  for  only  between  the  arrival  and  de 
parture  of  trains  is  she  kept  busy.  She  sends  for  books 
that  would  never  find  a  sale  in  San  Pasqual,  and  some  day 
— ah !  the  glory  of  anticipation !  she  is  going  to  Los  Angeles, 
where  the  event  of  her  life  is  to  take  place.  Going  to  be 
married  ?  No  ?  No,  indeed.  She  is  going  to  a  theater. 

So  much  for  an  intimate  description  of  our  leading  lady 
as  she  appears  when  the  curtain  rises.  But  in  all  plays, 
whether  in  real  life  or  on  the  stage,  there  must  be  a  leading 
man.  Very  well,  be  patient.  In  due  course  he  will  appear. 
Donna  has  been  dreaming  much  of  this  hero  of  late.  His 
name  is  Gerald  Van  Alstyne,  and  he  is  tall,  with  curly 
golden  hair,  piercing  blue  eyes  and  a  cleft  chin;  in  short, 
a  veritable  Adonis  and  different,  so  different,  from  the 
traveling  salesmen  who  leer  at  her  across  the  counter  and 
the  loutish  youths  of  San  Pasqual  who,  despairing  of  her 
favor,  call  her  by  her  first  name  because  they  know  it  annoys 
her.  Donna  has  not  the  slightest  doubt  but  that  this  young 
fellow  will  come  rushing  in  to  the  eating-house  some  day, 
discover  her  when  he  comes  to  pay  his  check,  and  eventually 
return  and  keep  on  returning  until  that  final  happy  day 
when  they  shall  go  away  together,  to  walk  hand  in  hand 
through  green  fields  and  listen  to  the  birds  and  bees,  to 
linger  under  the  shade  of  green  trees,  to  wander  in  an 
Elysium.  She  does  not  know  what  green  fields  and  run 
ning  water  look  like,  but  she  has  read  about  them — 

The  director 's  whistle  is  heard  in  the  wings ;  the  play  is 
on  at  last! 


62  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

As  Donna  thrust  the  last  hatpin  through  her  glorious 
hai?  and  turned  to  leave  the  place  of  her  employment,  her 
glance  rested  upon  Mr.  Harley  P.  Hennage,  covertly  watch 
ing  her  over  the  edge  of  his  soup  spoon.  She  removed  her 
glove,  walked  around  the  end  of  the  lunclf  counter  and  held 
out  her  hand. 

"Well,  Mr.  Hennage.  This  is  a  delightful  surprise.  I'm 
so  glad  to  see  you  back  in  San  Pasqual.  Where  have  you 
been  these  past  three  years?" 

Harley  P.  scrambled  down  from  his  high  stool,  took  her 
cool  hand  and  blushed. 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "but  I've  been  in 
some  mighty-y-y  funn-y-y  places,  where  I  didn't  meet  no 
beautiful  young  ladies  like  you,  Miss  Donnie.  I  ain  't  much 
of  a  man  at  handin'  out  compliments — I  never  was  one  o' 
the  presumin'  kind — but  you  sure  do  put  San  Pasqual  on 
the  map.  Miss  Donnie,  you  do,  for  a  fact." 

Donna  smiled  her  appreciation  of  Harley  P.  's  gallantry. 
' '  You  left  without  saying  good-by ' '  she  reminded  him.  ' '  If 
I  had  needed  you  I  couldn't  have  found  you.  Do  you 
remember  ?  You  said  if  I  ever  needed  a  friend — 

The  big  gambler  grinned.  "You  never  needed  me,  Miss 
Donnie.  You  never  would  need  a  man  like  me,  but  you 
might  have  needed  money.  If  you'd  a-needed  money,  now, 
why,  Dan  Pennycook  he'd  a-seen  you  through." 

Mr.  Hennage  did  not  judge  it  necessary  to  tell  Donna 
that  he  had  left  the  worthy  yardmaster  in  charge  of  her 
destinies,  with  a  thousand  dollars  on  deposit  in  a  bank  in 
Bakersfield,  in  Dan's  name,  for  Donna's  use  in  case  of 
emergency.  Mr.  Hennage  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  money, 
where  everybody  fought  to  get  his  money  away  from  him 
and  where  he  fought  to  get  theirs ;  hence  finances  were  ever 
his  first  thought.  As  for  Donna,  she  did  not  think  it  neces 
sary  that  she  should  express  a  contrary  opinion  regarding 
Dan  Pennycook.  She  said: 

"Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  counter  at  once  and  say 
hello?" 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  63 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  wanted  to  all  right,  but  I  hated 
to  appear  presuming  an'  with  my  rep  in  this  village  you 
know  how  people  are  liable  to  talk.  World  treatin'  you 
well,  Miss  Donnie  ? ' ' 

"I  think  I  get  more  fun  out  of  San  Pasqual  than  most 
of  the  people  in  it. ' ' 

"Well,  then,  you  must  spend  a  lot  o'  time  lookin'  into 
a  mirror"  replied  Harley  P.,  and  blushed  at  his  effrontery. 
"That's  the  only  way  the  San  Pasqual  folks  can  get  any 
fun — a-lookin'  at  your  face." 

"Mr.  Hennage,  I  fear  you're  getting  to  be  one  of  the 
presuming  kind.  I  declare  I  haven't  had  such  pretty 
speeches  made  me  this  year.  By  the  way,  how 's  the  kitty  ? ' ' 

Harley  P.'s  russet  countenance  swelled  like  the  wattles 
on  a  Thanksgiving  turkey.  He  leaned  over  the  counter 
and  gazed  under  it;  his  glance  swept  the  room;  he  even 
peered  under  his  stool,  Finally  he  looked  up  at  Donna 
with  his  three  gold  teeth  flashing  through  his  trustful, 
childish  smile. 

"I  dunno"  he  answered.  "I  guess  she's  around  the 
house  somewheres.  I  ain't  seen  her  in  quite  a  spell." 

"I  thought  so,"  she  answered  gravely,  "or  you  wouldn't 
have  returned  to  San  Pasqual.  Small  game  for  a  small 
pocketbook,  eh,  Mr.  Hennage?"  She  came  closer  to  him. 
"I  don't  mind  telling  you — just  between  friends,  you  un 
derstand — that  I  have  a  couple  of  hundred  to  stake  you 
to  if  you're  hard  up,  but  for  goodness  sake  don't  tell  Mrs. 
Pennyeook.  She  talks." 

"Good  Lord"  gasped  the  gambler,  and  choked  on  a 
crouton.  "D'ye  mean  it,  Miss-^Donna ? " 

"Certainly." 

''You're  a  dead  game  sport  and  I'd  take  you  up,  because 
I  understand  that  it's  between  pals,  but  you  ain't  got  no 
notion  o'  tryin'  to  square  me  for — you  know?" 

"I  might — if  I  didn't  understand  all  about  that — you 
know  ?  As  it  is  I  want  to  show  you  that  I  'm  grateful,  and 
my  experienced  eye  informs  me  that  you  arrived  in  a  box 


64  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

car.  An  empty  furniture  car,  I  should  say,  judging  by 
that  scrap  of  excelsior  in  your  back  hair,  although  the  car 
might  have  been  loaded  with  crockery." 

Mr.  Hennage  removed  the  evidence  and  gazed  at  it  re 
flectively. 

"I  suppose,  now,  if  that'd  been  a  feather,  you'd  a-swore 
I  flew  in." 

' '  Possibly.  You  've  been  a  high  flyer  in  your  day,  haven 't 
you?" 

Mr.  Hennage  grinned.  "I've  flew  some,  but  I've  come 
home  to  roost  now.  How 's  the  old  savage  down  at  the  Hat 
Ranch." 

' '  Sam  Singer  is  unchanged.  Nothing  ever  changes  in  this 
country,  Mr.  Hennage." 

"Nothiii*  but  money,"  he  corrected,  as  he  fished  a  bill 
out  of  his  vest  pocket,  "an*  money  sure  changes  hands, 
more  particular  when  I'm  around." 

''Are  you  going  back  to  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"Faro,  roulette,  black  jack,  coon  can  or  craps?" 

"  The  old  game— faro." 

"I'll  bank  you  up  to  five  hundred." 

"That's  not  the  right  thing  for  a  young  lady  to  do,  is 
it?"  queried  the  gambler.  "Havin'  truck  wit'  my  kind 
o'  people.  Me — I  '11  do  anything,  but  a  young  lady,  now — " 

"Please  do  not  compare  me  with  Mrs.  Pennycook"  Donna 
pleaded.  "I  am  not  the  guardian  of  San  Pasqual's  morals. 
I'll  stake  you  because  I  like  you  and  I  don't  care  who 
knows  it — if  you  don 't. ' ' 

"You're  a  brick"  the  gambler  declared.  "I  don't  need 
your  money,  you  blessed  woman.  I'm  'fat'  "  and  he  waved 
a  thousand-dollar  bill  at  her.  "I  did  ride  into  San  Pas- 
qual  on  a  freight,  but  I  did  it  from  choice,  an'  not  neces 
sity.  The  brakie  was  an  old  friend  o'  mine  an'  asked  me 
to  ride  in  wit'  him.  But  all  the  same  it's  grand  to  think 
that  there's  women  like  you  in  this  tough  old  world.  It 
helps  out  a  heap.  You're  just  like  your  poor  mother — a 
real  lady  an'  no  mistake." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  65 

Donna  blushed.  She  was  embarrassed,  despite  the 
earnest  praise  of  Harley  P.  She  gave  him  her  hand.  lie 
took  it  with  inward  trembling,  lest  she  might  be  seen  shak 
ing  hands  with  him  and  dishonored.  She  said  good-night. 

' '  Walkin '  home  alone  ? ' '  Harley  P.  was  much  concerned. 
"Not  that  I'm  fishin'  for  an  invitation  to  see  you  safe  to 
the  Hat  Ranch,  because  that'd  start  talk,  an'  anyhow  I 
ain't  one  o'  the  presumin'  kind  an'  you  know  it;  but  it's 
dark  an'  the  zephyr's  blowin'  like  sixty,  an'  if  there  was 
one  hobo  on  that  freight  I  come  in  on  there  was  a  dozen." 

"Why,  I  didn't  realize  it  was  so  late"  Donna  answered. 
"I'll  have  to  wait  until  the  moon  comes  up.  But  I  never 
walk  home  when  I'm  kept  late.  The  division  superintend 
ent  lends  me  the  track- walker 's  velocipede  and  I  whiz  home 
like  the  limited.  There  isn't  any  danger,  and  if  there  was 
I  could  outrun  it.  Do  you  wish  to  register  before  I  go, 
Mr.  Hennage?  I  suppose  you  11  want  your  old  room?" 

The  gambler  nodded  and  Donna  returned  to  the  cashier's 
counter.  After  assigning  Mr.  Hennage  to  his  quarters  she 
telephoned  to  the  baggage  room  next  door  where  the  track 
walker  for  that  division  stored  his  velocipede,  and  asked  to 
have  the  machine  brought  out  and  placed  on  the  tracks. 

For  perhaps  half  an  hour  she  conversed  with  Harley  P., 
much  to  that  careless  soul's  discomfort,  for  he  was  terribly 
afraid  of  affording  the  San  Pasqualians  grounds  for  "talk." 
And  as  she  waited  the  moon  arose,  lighting  up  the  half  mile 
of  track  that  led  past  the  Hat  Ranch;  and  Fate,  under 
whose  direction  all  the  dramas  of  life  are  staged,  gave  the 
cue  to  the  Leading  Man. 

He  entered  San  Pasqual,  riding  down  through  the  desert 
from  Owens  river  valley.  But  he  was  not  in  the  least  such 
a  Leading  Man  as  Donna  had  pictured  in  her  dreams.  He 
was  tall  enough  but  his  hair  was  not  crisp  and  curly  and 
golden.  Most  people  would  have  called  it  red.  Not,  praise 
be,  a  carroty  red,  a  dull  negative,  scrubby  red,  but  a  nicer 
red  than  that — dark  auburn,  in  fact.  And  he  had  an  Irish 
nose  and  an  Irish  jaw  and  Irish  eyes  of  bonny  brown.  In 


66  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

but  one  particular  did  he  resemble  the  dream  man.  He 
did  have  a  cleft  in  his  chin.  But  even  that  was  none  of 
nature's  doing.  A  Mexican  with  a  knife  was  solely  respon 
sible.  Yet,  worse  than  all  of  these  disappointments  is  the 
fact  that  his  name  was  not  Gerald  Van  Alstyne.  No,  in 
deed.  The  Leading  Man  owned  to  the  plain,  homely,  un- 
romantic  patronymic  of  Bob  McGraw.  The  only  thing  ro 
mantic  and — er — literary  about  Bob  McGraw  was  his 
Roman-nosed  mustang,  Friar  Tuck — so  called  because  he 
Shad  been  foaled  and  raised  on  a  wooded  range  near  Sher 
wood  in  Mendocino  county.  As  a  product  of  Sherwood 
forest,  Mr.  McGraw  had  very  properly  christened  him  Friar 
Tuck,  and  as  Friar  Tuck's  colthood  home  lay  five  hundred 
miles  to  the  north,  it  will  be  seen  that  Mr.  McGraw  was 
a  wanderer.  Hence,  if  the  reader  is  at  all  imaginative  or 
inclined  to  the  science  of  deduction,  he  will  at  one  mental 
bound,  so  to  speak,  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  Bob  Mc 
Graw,  if  not  actually  an  adventurous  person,  was  at  least 
fond  of  adventure — which  amounts  to  the  same  thing  in 
the  long  run.  Most  people  who  read  Robin  Hood  are,  as 
witness  Mr.  Tom  Sawyer. 

The  moon  was  coming  up  just  as  the  red-headed  young 
man  from  Owens  river  valley  rode  into  San  Pasqual.  As 
he  approached  the  railroad  hotel  and  eating-house  he  saw 
a  girl  emerge,  and  pause  for  a  moment  before  walking  out 
to  climb  aboard  a  track- walker's  velocipede.  In  the  light 
that  streamed  through  the  open  door  he  saw  her  face, 
framed  in  a  tangle  of  black  wind-blown  wisps  of  hair;  so 
he  reined  in  Friar  Tuck  and  stared,  for  he — well!  Most 
people  looked  twice  at  Donna  Corblay,  and  the  red-headed 
man  was  young. 

So  he  sat  his  horse  in  the  dribbling  moonlight  and  watched 
her  seize  the  handles  of  the  lever  and  glide  silently  off  into 
the  night.  He  had  been  standing  in  the  stirrups,  leaning 
forward  to  look  at  her  hands  as  they  grasped  the  lever, 
and  now  he  sat  back  in  his  saddle,  much  relieved. 

"No  wedding  ring  in  sight"  he  mused.     "My  lady  of 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  67, 

the  velocipede,  I'll  marry  you,  or  my  name's  not  Bob  Mc- 
Graw." 

Just  then  Mr.  Harley  P.  Hennage  appeared  in  the  door 
way.  He  saw  Bob  McGraw,  recognized  him,  and  imme 
diately  dodged  back  and  went  out  another  door.  He 
wanted  to  rush  out  and  shake  hands  with  Mr.  McGraw,  of 
whom  he  was  very  fond,  but  we  regret  to  state  that  Mr. 
McGraw  owed  Harley  P.  Hennage  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars 
and  had  owed  it  for  three  years,  and  Mr.  Hennage  hesi 
tated  to  seek  Mr.  McGraw  out  for  purposes  of  friendship, 
fearing  that  Mr.  McGraw  might  construe  his  advances  as 
a  roundabout  dun.  Ergo,  Mr.  Hennage  fled. 

Bob  McGraw  watched  Donna  Corblay,  and  when  she  was 
about  three  hundred  yards  distant  and  beyond  the  town 
limits,  he  saw  that  a  switch  had  been  left  open,  for  the 
velocipede  suddenly  left  the  outside  track,  cut  obliquely 
across  several  parallel  rows  of  tracks  before  she  could  con 
trol  it,  and  shot  in  behind  a  string  of  box  cars.  As  the 
girl  disappeared,  three  dark  figures  sprang  after  her  and 
a  scream  came  very  faintly  against  the  wind. 

Bob  McGraw  laughed  and  drew  a  gun  from  under  his 
left  armpit. 

"I'd  ride  to  ^ell  for  you"  he  muttered  joyously,  and 
sank  the  rowels  home  in  Friar  Tuck. 


CHAPTER  V 

AS  has  been  intimated  elsewhere  in  this  story,  Saa 
Pasqual  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  "tough" 
town.  This  is  due  in  a  large  measure  to  the  fact 
that  it  is  a  division  terminal,  and  at  all  division  terminals 
train  crews  must  reckon  with  that  element  in  our  leisure 
class  which  declines  to  pay  railroad  fare  and  elects  to 
travel  on  brake-beams  rather  than  in  Pullman  sleepers. 
Having  been  unceremoniously  plucked  from  his  precarious 
perch,  the  dispossessed  hobo,  finding  himself  stranded  in 
a  desert  town  where  the  streets  are  not  electrically  lighted, 
follows  the  dumb  dictates  of  his  stomach  and  the  trend 
of  his  abnormal  ambition,  and  promptly  "turns  a  trick." 
Occasionally  there  is  an  objection  on  the  part  of  the 
"trickee"  and  somebody  gets  killed.  Naturally  enough, 
it  follows  that  the  sound  of  pistol  shots  is  frequently  heard 
in  the  land,  and  since  it  happens  nine  times  out  of  ten 
that  the  argument  is  between  transient  _,,  the  permanent 
resident  is  not  nearly  so  interested  in  the  otucome  as  one 
might  imagine — particularly  when  the  shooting  takes  place 
at  night  and  beyond  the  town  limits. 

Harley  P.  Hennage  had  crossed  from  the  eating-house, 
and  had  just  reached  the  porch  of  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon, 
when  above  the  whistling  of  the  "zephyr"  he  heard  the 
muffled  reports  of  three  pistol  shots.  One  "Borax" 
O'Rourke,  a  "mule-skinner"  from  up  Keeler  way,  who 
had  just  arrived  in  San  Pasqual  to  spend  his  pay-day  after 
the  fashion  of  the  country,  heard  them  also. 

"Down  the  tracks,"  O'Rourke  elucidated.  "Tramps 
fightin'  with  a  railroad  policeman,  I  guess.  Let's  go 
down." 

"What's  the  use?"  objected  Mr.  Hennage.  "A  yegg 

68 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  69 

never  does  any  damage  unless  he's  right  on  top  of  his  man. 
They  all  carry  little  short  bulldog  guns,  an'  I  never  did 
see  one  o'  them  little  bar  pistols  that  would  score  a  hit 
at  twenty  yards  after  sundown.  They  carry  high." 

At  that  instant  the  sound  of  another  shot  was  heard,  but 
faintly. 

"That's  the  hobo"  announced  Mr.  Hennage  with  con 
viction.  "Them  first  three  shots  came  from  a  life-size 
gun." 

Half  a  minute  passed ;  then  came  the  report  of  six  shots, 
following  so  quickly  upon  each  other  that  they  sounded 
almost  like  a  volley. 

* '  Nine  shots ' '  commented  ' '  Borax ' '  0  'Kourke.  '  *  That 's 
an  automatic." 

"That's  what  it  is!"  Mr.  Hennage  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  porch.  He  was  just  a  little  excited.  "It's  all  off 
with  the  hobo"  he  continued.  "I  know  the  man  that's 
using  that  automatic,  and  he  can  shoot  your  eye  out  at  a 
hundred  yards.  I  saw  him  ridin'  in  just  as  I  left  the 
eatin'  house." 

"He  must  have  been  movin'  to  get  down  there  in  such 
a  hurry.  What's  a  man  on  horseback  doin'  chasin'  hobos 
across  a  web  of  railroad  tracks,  an'  if  he  was  headed  south, 
seems  to  me  he'd  have  laid  over  for  supper — " 

But  Harley  P.  had  a  flash  of  inspiration  now.  "Come 
on,  O'Rourke"  he  shouted,  and  made  a  flying  leap  off  the 
saloon  porch.  Borax  followed,  and  the  two  raced  down 
the  street  at  top  speed— which,  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Hennage, 
owing  to  his  weight  and  his  bow-legs,  was  not  remarkable. 
Borax  easily  outdistanced  him. 

Meanwhile,  a  rather  spectacular  panorama  had  been  un 
folding  itself  back  of  the  string  of  box-cars.  Guided  by- 
Donna's  screams,  Bob  McGraw  sent  his  horse  away  at  a 
tearing  gallop,  lifting  him  in  great  leaps  across  the  maze 
of  railroad  tracks,  and  in  a  shower  of  flying  cinders  brought 
him  up,  almost  sitting,  in  the  little  foot-path  between  two 
lines  of  track.  Almost  under  Friar  Tuck's  front  feet, 


70  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Donna  was  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  three  ruffians,  ona 
of  whom  was  endeavoring  to  tie  a  handkerchief  across  her 
mouth.  The  velocipede  had  been  derailed  by  means  of  a 
car-stake  placed  across  the  track. 

Bob  McGraw 's  long  gun  rose  and  fell  three  times,  and 
at  each  deadly  drop  a  streak  of  flame  punctured  the  moon- 
( light.  The  three  assailants  went  down,  shot  through  their 
respective  legs — which  remarkable  coincidence  was  not  a 
coincidence  at  all,  but  merely  a  touch  of  kindly  considera 
tion  on  the  part  of  Bob  McGraw,  who  didn't  believe  in 
killing  his  man  when  wounding  him  would  serve  the  same 
purpose. 

As  the  three  brutes  dropped  away  from  her  the  man  from 
Owens  river  valley  lowered  his  weapon,  and  Donna,  pale, 
terrorized  and  disheveled,  reeled  toward  him.  He  swung 
his  horse  a  little,  leaned  outward  and  downward,  and  with 
a  sweep  of  his  strong  left  arm  he  lifted  her  off  the  ground 
and  set  her  in  front  of  him  on  Friar  Tuck's  neck,  just  as 
one  of  the  wounded  thugs  straightened  up,  cut  loose  with 
his  bulldog  gun  and  shot  Bob  McGraw  through  the  right 
breast. 

Donna  heard  a  half -suppressed  "Oh!"  from  her  deliv 
erer,  and  felt  him  sway  forward  a  little.  Then,  seeming 
to  summon  every  atom  of  grit  and  strength  he  possessed, 
he  whirled  his  horse,  scuttled  away  around  the  rear  of 
the  box-car,  out  of  danger,  and  set  Donna  on  the  ground. 

"Wait  here"  he  commanded,  through  teeth  clenched  to 
keep  back  the  blood  that  welled  from  within  him.  "I  was 
too  kind — to  those  hounds." 

He  rode  back  and  finished  his  night's  work.  War-mad, 
he  sat  his  horse,  reeling  in  the  saddle,  and  emptied  his  gun 
into  the  squirming  wretches  as  they  sought  to  crawl  under 
the  car  for  protection. 

Donna  was  terribly  frightened,  but  she  was  the  last 
•woman  in  the  world  to  go  into  hysterics.  She  realized 
that  she  was  saved,  and  accordingly  commenced  to  cry, 
lirhile  waiting  for  the  horseman  to  reappear  A  minute 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  7! 

passed  and  still  he  did  not  come,  and  suddenly,  without 
quite  realizing  what  she  was  doing  or  why  she  did  it,  the 
girl  went  back  to  the  scene  of  the  battle  to  look  for  him* 
She  was  not  so  badly  frightened  now,  but  rather  awed  byj 
the  silence.  Donna  was  desert-bred,  and  in  all  her  life 
she  had  never  fainted.  For  a  girl  she  was  remarkably 
free  from  "nerves,"  and  she  had  lived  too  long  in  San 
Pasqual  to  faint  now  at  sight  of  the  three  still  figure3 
huddled  between  the  ties,  even  had  she  seen  them;  which 
she  had  not.  All  that  Donna  saw  was  a  roan  range  pony, 
standing  quietly  with  drooping  head,  while  his  master 
sprawled  in  the  saddle  with  his  arms  around  his  horse's 
neck.  Donna  went  quickly  to  him,  and  when  the  moon, 
came  out  from  behind  a  hurrying  cloud  she  was  enabled, 
with  the  aid  of  the  ghastly  green  glare  from  a  switch  lan 
tern  which  shone  on  his  face,  to  observe  that  he  was  quite 
conscious  and  looking  at  her  with  untroubled  boyish  eyes. 

His  hat  was  lying  on  the  ground,  securely  anchored  by; 
the  pony's  left  fore  foot.  "With  rather  unnatural  calmness 
and  following,  subconsciously  perhaps,  her  acquired  instinct 
for  salving  hats  for  the  men  of  her  little  world,  Donna 
ftooped,  slapped  the  pony's  leg  to  make  him  release  the 
hat  and  picked  it  up.  She  stood  for  a  few  seconds,  with 
the  hat  in  her  hand,  looking  at  him  pityingly.  The  man's 
brown  eyes  blazed  with  admiration. 

"What  a  woman!"  he  wheezed.  "You're  brave — like  a 
man.  You  came  back.  I'd  like — to  live — to  serve  you 
further—" 

He  gurgled,  a  red  stain  appeared  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  "When  he 
opened  them  again  his  soul  was  shining  through  and  he 
smiled  a  little.  He  did  not  again  attempt  to  speak,  yet, 
for  all  that,  Donna  heard  the  man-call  to  the  woman  that 
belonged  to  him,  the  mate  for  whom  he  had  been  destined 
when  the  world  was  first  created.  There  are  in  this  world 
personalities  so  finely  attuned  to  each  other  that  mere  wordsi 
are  unnecessary  to  express  the  feelings  of  cash  for  the  other; 


7.2  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

[when  first  they  meet.  Between  certain  rare  souls  the  gulf 
of  convention  may  be  bridged  by  a  glance ;  the  divine 
miracle  of  a  pure  and  holy  love,  leaping  to  life  in  an  instant, 
can  suffer  no  defilement  by  a  spontaneous  and  human  im 
pulse  to  grasp  the  precious  gift  ere  life  departs. 

Some  •women  love  at  first  sight,  but  the  vast  majority, 
lacking  the  imagination  to  perceive,  at  a  glance,  the  at 
tributes  that  go  toward  the  making  of  a  Man,  only  think 
they  love  and  delay  a  conventional  period  before  yielding. 
But  Donna  Corblay  had  lived  so  long  in  sordid,  unimagina 
tive,  unromantic  San  Pasqual  that,  from  much  inhibition 
and  introspection,  she  was  different  from  most  women. 
She  had  grown  to  rely  on  herself,  to  trust  her  own  judgment 
and  to  bank  on  first  impressions.  As  she  faced  Bob  Mc 
Graw  now,  her  first  impression  was  that  he  was  telling  her 
•with  his  eyes  that  he  loved  her,  that  he  had  ridden  in  be 
hind  this  string  of  box-cars  to  purchase  her  honor  at  the 
price  of  his  life,  because  he  loved  her.  And  inasmuch  as 
there  appeared  to  be  nothing  unusual  or  unconventional  in 
liis  telling  her  this — with  his  eyes,  Donna  was  sensible  of 
but  one  feeling  and  one  desire;  a  feeling  of  gratitude  to 
him  for  the  priceless  gift  of  his  love  and  her  honor,  a  desire 
to— 

She  dropped  his  hat,  wiped  the  blood  from  his  lips  and 
kissed  him. 

Bob  McGraw  smiled  wistfully. 

"It's  worth  it,"  he  whispered,  "and  few  women  are — 
worth — dying  for." 

' '  You  must  not  die ' '  the  girl  cried  passionately.  ' '  You  're 
my  Dream  Man  and  I've  waited  so  long  for  you  and 
dreamed  of  your  coming!  I'll  pray  for  you,  I'll  ask  God 
to  give  you  to  me — " 

An  almost  fanatical  joy  beamed  in  her  wonderful  eyes, 
the  color  had  returned  to  her  cheeks ;  and  to  Bob  McGraw, 
faltering  there  on  the  edge  of  eternity,  her  radiant  regal 
presence  brought  a  wondrous  peace.  For  a  moment  he  sa\v 
Jhe  moonlight  reflecting  the  light  in  her  eyes;  a  strand  o£ 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  73 

her  hair  blew  across  his  face — he  smelled  its  perfume ;  the 
intoxication  oi  her  glorious  personality  caused  him  to  mar 
vel  and  doubt  his  own  waning  sense  of  the  reality  of  things. 
He  leaned  toward  her  hungrily  and  lapsed  into  unconscious 
ness,  while  his  big  limp  body  commenced  to  slide  slowly  out 
of  the  slippery  saddle.  She  caught  him  in  her  strong  arms, 
eased  him  to  the  ground  and  knelt  there  with  his  red  head 
in  her  lap,  showering  his  face  with  her  kisses  and  her  tears. 
It  was  thus  that  "Borax"  O'Rourke,  badly  blown  after 
his  three-hundred-yard  dash,  found  them. 

"Great  snakes,  young  lady,  what's  happened?"  gasped 
Mr.  O'Rourke. 

"Three  brutes  and  a  man  have  been  killed"  she  replied 

"What  the — who — who's  that  feller?    Are  you — " 

' '  Don 't  ask  questions,  Borax.  I  am  not  hurt,  but  I  have 
no  time  to  answer  questions.  Please  remove  that  car-stake, 
and  replace  the  velocipede  on  the  tracks." 

Her  cool  demeanor,  despite  her  tears,  her  terse  com 
mands,  indicating  a  plan  for  prompt  action  of  some  kind, 
flabbergasted  Borax  to  such  an  extent  that  he  commenced 
to  swear  very  fluently,  without  for  a  moment  realizing  that 
there  was  a  lady  present.  And  just  at  this  juncture  Haf 
ley  P.  Hennage  arrived. 

As  might  be  expected,  Harley  P.  wasted  no  time  catering 
to  the  call  of  curiosity. 

"Let  me  have  him,  Miss  Donna"  he  ordered.  "We'll 
put  him  on  the  velocipede  and  rush  him  up  to  the  hotel. 
I'll—" 

"No,  Mr.  Hennage.  He  belongs  to  me.  Place  him  on 
the  velocipede  and  help  me  take  him  home." 

"To  the  Hat  Ranch?" 

"Yes,  of  course.     I  can  care  for  him  there,  if  he  lives.'* 

"Why,  Miss  Donna—" 

"Do  it,  please"  she  commanded.  "I  know  best.  Set 
him  on  the  little  platform  and  tie  his  legs  to  the  reach. 
Then  stand  behind  him  to  work  the  lever,  and  let  him 
rest  against  your  knees.  I'll  follow  with  the  horse." 


?4  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Remarkable!  Very  remarkable!"  soliloquized  the  big 
gambler.  Without  further  ado  he  proceeded  to  carry  out 
Donna's  orders. 

"Borax,"  Donna  continued,  "you  run  up  to  the  drug 
store  and  tell  Doc  Taylor  what's  happened.  Ill  send  Sam 
Singer  back  with  the  velocipede  for  him." 
1  She  gathered  the  reins  in  her  left  hand  and  swung  aboard 
Friar  Tuck.  Haiiey  P.>  having  disposed  of  his  gory  bur 
den  on  the  limited  accommodations  of  the  track  velocipede, 
seized  the  levers  and  trundled  away,  followed  by  Donna 
on  Friar  Tuck,  cautiously  picking  his  way  between  the  ties. 

Borax  O'Rourke  stock  for  a  moment,  gazing  after  them. 

"She  acts  like  a  mother  cat  with  a  kitten"  he  muttered. 
" Damned  if  she  wasn't  kissin'  the  feller — an'  him  a  stran 
ger  in  town ! ' ' 

He  walked  rapidly  back  to  San  Pasqual,  and  such  was 
his  perturbation  that  he  sought  to  have  "Doc"  Taylor 
unravel  the  puzzle  for  him. 

"Hysterics"  was  the  doctor's  explanation. 

"Rats"  retorted  O'Rourke. 

"All  right,  then.  It's  rata."  The  doctor  grabbed  his 
emergency  grip  and  departed  on  the  run  for  the  Hat 
Ranch.  Sam  Singer  met  him  half-way  with  the  velocipede. 

O'Rourke  returned  to  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon  where, 
since  he  was  a  vulgarian  and  a  numbskull,  he  retailed  his 
story  to  the  loungers  there  assembled. 

"I'll  never  git  over  the  sight  o'  that  girl  a-kissing  that 
young  feller"  he  concluded.  "Why,  I'd  down  a  hobo 
every  mornin'  before  breakfast  if  I  knowed  for  certain 
she  'd  treat  me  that-a-way  for  doin '  it. " 

The  situation  was  canvassed  at  considerable  length,  and 
only  the  entrance  of  the  constable  with  a  request  for  vol 
unteers  to  help  him  remove  the  "remainders"  that  were 
littering  up  the  right  of  way  below  town,  served  to  turn 
the  conversation  into  other  channels. 

Upon  their  arrival  at  the  Hat  Ranch  a  shout  from  Har- 
ley  P.  Hennage  brought  Sam  Singer  and  Soft  Wind  to  the 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  753 

front  gate.  Donna  dismounted,  tying  Friar  Tuck  to  the 
''zephyr"  by  the  simple  process  of  dropping  the  reins  over 
his  head,  and  hurried  into  the  house  to  prepare  her  mother's 
old  room  for  the  reception  of  the  wounded  man.  Bob  Me 
Graw  was  very  limp  and  white  as  Harley  P.  and  the  Indian 
carried  him  in.  The  gambler  undressed  him  while  Sam 
Singer  sprang  aboard  the  velocipede  and  sped  back  toward 
town  to  meet  the  doctor. 

When  the  doctor  arrived,  he  and  Harley  P.  Hennage 
went  into  the  bedroom,  closing  the  door  after  them.  Donna 
remained  in  the  kitchen.  She  had  already  ordered  Soft 
"Wind  to  light  a  fire  in  the  range  and  heat  some  water,  and 
when  presently  the  gambler  came  out  to  the  kitchen  he 
nodded  his  appreciation  of  her  forethought  ere  he  disap 
peared  again  with  the  hot  water  and  a  basin. 

In  about  an  hour  Doctor  Taylor  emerged,  grip  in  hand. 

"  I  've  done  all  I  can  for  him,  Miss  Corblay ' '  he  told  her. 
"I'm  going  up  town  to  close  the  drug  store  and  get  a  few 
things  I  may  need,  but  I'll  be  back  within  an  hour  and 
spend  the  balance  of  the  night  with  him." 

"Will  he  live?" 

Donna's  voice  was  calm,  her  tones  hinting  of  nothing 
more  than  a  friendly  interest  and  sympathy;  yet  Harley 
P.,  watching  her  over  the  doctor's  shoulder,  guessed  the 
stress  of  emotion  under  which  she  strove,  for  he,  too,  had 
seen  her  kiss  Bob  McGraw  as  he  lay  unconscious  in  her 
arms. 

"I  fear  he  will  not.  The  bullet  ranged  upward,  per 
forating  the  top  of  his  right  lung,  and  went  on  clean 
through.  I  've  seen  men  recover  from  wounds  in  more  vital 
parts,  but  a  .45-caliber  bullet  did  the  trick  to  our  young 
friend,  and  a  .45  tears  quite  a  hole.  He's  big  and  strong 
and  has  a  fighting  chance,  but  I'm  afraid — very  much 
afraid — of  internal  hemorrhage,  and  traumatic  pneumonia 
is  bound  to  set  in." 

"He  will  not  die!"  said  Donna. 

The  doctor  looked  at  her  curiously.     "I  hope  not"  he 


76  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

said.  "But  he'll  need  a  trained  nurse  and  the  best  of  care 
to  pull  through.  It's  long  odds." 

' '  That  young  feller 's  middle  name  is  Long  Odds. ' '  Mr. 
Hennage  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  Donna  needed 
a  great  deal  of  comforting  at  that  moment.  "He's  lived 
on  long  odds  ever  since  he  came  into  this  country." 

"How  do  you  know,  Hennage?"  the  doctor  demanded. 
"I  tell—" 

"Long  odds  an'  long  guns,  like  birds  o'  feather  always 
flock  together"  the  gambler  answered  him  drily.  "This 
young  feller  wouldn't  feel  that  he  was  gettin'  any  joy  out 
o'  life  if  he  didn't  tackle  the  nub  end  o'  the  deal.  I'm 
layin'  even  money  he  comes  up  to  the  young  lady's  ex 
pectations." 

Donna  thanked  him  with  her  eyes,  and  Harley  P.  crossed 
to  the  door  and  looked  down  the  long  patio  to  where  a  small 
white  wooden  cross  gleamed  through  the  festoons  of  climb 
ing  roses. 

"He  ought  to  have  a  nurse"  the  doctor  advised  Donna. 

"Very  well,  doctor.  You  will  telephone  to  Bakersfield, 
or  Los  Angeles,  will  you  not,  and  engage  one  ? ' ' 

' '  I  don 't  think  our  patient  can  afford  the  expense.  Hen 
nage  frisked  him  and  all  the  money — " 

"Thank  you,  I  will  attend  to  the  financial  side  of  this 
case,  Doctor  Taylor." 

Mr.  Hennage  turned  from  his  survey  of  the  patio. 

* '  Doc, ' '  he  complained,  "  it 's  time  for  you  to  move  out  o  ' 
San  Pasqual.  You've  stayed  too  long  already.  You're 
gettin'  the  San  Pasqual  sperrit,  Doc.  You  ain't  got  no 
sympathy  for  a  stranger." 

' '  Well,  you  don 't  expect  me  to  put  up  twenty-five  a  week 
and  railroad  fare — " 

"Never  mind  worryin'  about  what  you've  got  to  put 
up  with,  Doc.  If  you  know  all  the  things  I  put  up  with — 
thanks,  Doc.  Hurry  back,  and  don't  forget  to  'phone  for 
that  nurse." 

"Ain't  it  marvelous  how  a  small  camp  always  narrers 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  77 

the  point  o'  view?"  the  gambler  observed  when  the  doctor 
had  gone.  ' '  Always  thinkin '  o '  themselves  an '  money.  A 
man  in  my  business,  Miss  Donna,  soon  learns  that  mighty 
few  men — an'  women,  too — will  stand  the  acid.  That 
young  feller  inside  (he  jerked  a  fat  thumb  over  his  shoul 
der)  will  stand  it.  I  know.  I've  applied  the  acid.  An' 
you'll  stand  the  acid,  too,"  he  added — "when  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook  hears  you  kissed  Bob  McGraw.  Ouch !  That  woman 's 
tongue  drips  corrosive  sublimate." 

Donna  blushed  furiously. 

"You — you — won't  tell,  will  you,  Mr.  Hennage?" 

"Of  course  not.  But  that  chuckleheaded  roughneck 
O'Rourke  will.  "Why  did  you  kiss  him?  I  ain't  one  o' 
the  presumin'  kind,  but  I'd  like  to  know,  Miss  Donna." 

"I  kissed  him" — Donna  commenced  to  cry  and  hid  her 
burning  face  in  her  hands.  "I  kissed  him  because — be-1 
cause — I  thought  he  was  dying — and  he  was  the  first  man 
— that  looked  at — me  so  different.  And  he  was  so  brave, 
Mr.  Hennage — " 

"That  you  thought  he  was  a  man  an'  worth  the  kiss,  eh, 
Miss  Donna?" 

' '  I  guess  that 's  the  explanation ' '  she  confessed,  the  while 
she  marveled  inwardly  that  she  should  feel  such  relief  at 
unburdening  her  secret  to  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual. 

"If  some  good  woman  had  only  done  that  for  me"  the 
gambler  murmured  a  little  wistfully.  "If  she  only  had! 
But  of  course  this  young  Bob,  he's  different  from — what  I 
was  at  his  age — " 

"I  couldn't  help  it"  Donna  sobbed;  "he's  one  of  the 
presuming  kind." 

Harley  P.  sat  down  and  laughed  until  his  three  gold 
teeth  almost  threatened  to  fall  out. 

"God  bless  your  sweet  soul,  Miss  Donna,"  he  gasped, 
"go  in  and  kiss  him  again!  He  needs  you  worse  than  he 
does  a  nurse.  Go  in  an'  kiss  the  presumin'  cuss." 

"You're  making  fun  of  me"  Donna  charged. 

"I'm.  not.     Can't  a  low-down,  no-account  man  like  me 


78  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

even  langh  where  there's  happiness?  Why,  if  that  young 
feller  goes  to  work  an'  spoils  it  all  by  kickin'  the  bucket, 
I 'd  die  o' grief." 

"You  know  him,  do  yon  not?" 

"I  should  say  so." 

"Is  he—  " 

"Yes,  he's  the  nicest  kind  of  a  boy." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"Twenty-eight." 

Donna  was  thoughtful. 

"Nice  disparity  in  ages,  don't  you  think,  Miss  Donna?" 

Donna  blushed  again.  "What  is  his  business?"  she 
asked. 

"Well,  that's  a  right  hard  question  to  answer,  Miss 
Donna.  He  was  a  lawyer  once  for  about  a  month,  after 
he  got  out  o'  college,  an'  then  he  worked  on  a  newspaper. 
After  that,  just  to  prove  he  was  a  human  bein',  he  got  the 
notion  that  there  was  money  in  the  chicken  business.  Well, 
he  got  out  o '  the  chicken  business  with  a  couple  o '  hundred 
dollars,  an'  then  he  come  breezin'  into  a  minin'  camp  one 
day  an'  tried  bustin'  a  faro  bank.  Failed  agin.  I'm  re 
sponsible  for  that  failure,  though.  The  next  I  see  of  him 
is  a  year  later,  in  McKittrick,  where  he's  runnin'  a  real 
estate  office  an'  dealin'  in  oil  lands.  But  somehow  there 
never  was  no  oil  on  none  o'  the  land  that  Bob  tied  up,  so 
he  got  plumb  disgusted  an'  quit.  He  was  thinkm'  o'  tour- 
in'  the  country  districts  sellin'  little  pieces  o'  bluestone  to 
put  in  the  bowls  of  kerosene  lamps  to  keep  'em  from  ex- 
plodin',  when  I  see  him  next.  He  borrowed  fifty  dollars 
from  me — which  he  ain't  paid  back  yet,  come  to  think  on't 
— an'  went  to  Nevada  minin'  an'  just  at  present  he's  about 
settled  into  his  regular  legitimate  business.  He  was  headecl 
that  way  from  birth.  I  could  read  the  signs." 

"What  is  his  present  profession?" 

"He's  an  Inspector  o'  Landscapes." 

"You're  wrong.     He's  not  a  Desert  Rat." 

*'He  is.     I  can  prove  it," 


79 

' '  He 's  too  young.  They  don 't  begin  to  '  rat '  until  tney  're 
close  to  forty.  I  could  name  you  a  dozen,  and  the  young 
est  is  thirty-eight." 

"Oh,  you're  thinkin'  o'  the  ordinary,  garden  yariety. 
But  I  tell  you  this  McGraw  man's  a  Desert  Rat.  The 
desert's  got  him.  Generally  it  don't  get  'em  so  young,  but 
once  in  a  while  it  does.  An'  of  all  the  Desert  Rats  that 
ever  sucked  a  niggerhead  cactus,  the  feller  that  goes  huntin ' 
lost  mines  is  the  worst.  They  never  get  over  it." 

Donna  permitted  herself  a  very  small  smile. 

"Sometimes  they  do"  she  reminded  him. 

"I  wouldn't  be  surprised.  But  not  until  they've  foundi 
what  they're  lookin'  for.  However,  we'll  wait  an'  see  if 
Bob  McGraw — like  that  name,  Miss  Donna  ? ' ' 

"I  love  it." 

"We'll  wait  an'  see  if  he  pulls  through  this,  an'  then 
we'll  find  out  if  he  can  be  cured  o'  desert-rattin'.  In  the 
meantime  I'll  wait  here  until  Doc  gets  back.  I  ain't  one 
of  the  presumin'  kind,  but  I  think  I'd  better  stay.  An* 
you — I  think  you  'd  better  go  in  an '  have  another  good  look 
at  this  Desert  Rat  o'  yours.  He's  breathin'  like  the  north 
wind  sighin'  through  a  knot-hole." 

He  watched  her  disappear. 

"For  the  sight  o'  a  good  woman,  0  Lord,  we  thank  Thee," 
he  murmured,  "an'  for  the  sight  o'  a  good  woman  with 
grit,  we  thank  Thee  some  more.  Great  grief,  why  wasn't 
I  born  good  an'  good-lookin'  'stead  o'  fat  an'  no  account?" 

At  ten  o'clock  Doc  Taylor  returned  to  the  Hat  Ranch 
and  found  the  condition  of  his  patient  unchanged.  He  was 
still  unconscious  and  his  loud,  stertorous  breathing,  coupled 
with  the  ghastly  exhaust  of  air  through  the  hole  on  his 
breast,  testified  to  the  seriousness  of  his  condition. 
Throughout  the  night  Donna  sat  by  the  bedside  watching 
him,  while  the  doctor  remained  in  the  kitchen  with  Mr. 
Hennage. 

Toward  morning  Bob  McGraw  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
at  Donna  very  wonderingly.  Then  his  glance  wandered 


8o  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

around  the  room  and  "back  to  the  girl.  He  was  plainly 
puzzled. 

4 '  Where 's  my  horse, ' '  he  whispered,  ' '  and  my  spurs  and 
my  gun  and  hat?" 

Donna  bent  over  him  and  placed  two  cool  fingers  on 
his  lips. 

"The  hemorrhage  has  stopped,"  she  warned  him,  "and 
you  mustn't  speak  or  move,  or  you  may  bring  it  on  again." 

"I  remember — now.  I  fired — low — and  he — got  me. 
Where's  Friar  Tuck?" 

"Your  horse?  He's  in  the  corral  at  San  Pasqual,  and 
your  gun  is  in  the  kitchen  with  your  spurs,  and  your  hat 
— why,  I  guess  I  forgot  to  bring  your  hat  with  me.  But 
don't  worry  about  it.  I'm  Donna  Corblay  of  the  Hat 
Ranch,  and  I'll  give  you  your  choice  of  a  hundred  hats  if 
you'll  only  get  well." 

"Are  you — the — girl — that  kissed  me?" 

Donna's  voice  was  very  low,  her  face  was  very  close  to 
his  as  she  answered  him.  His  lean  brown  hand  stole  con 
fidingly  into  hers — for  a  long  time  he  was  silent,  content 
to  lie  there  and  know  that  she  was  near  him. 

Presently  he  looked  up  at  her  again,  with  the  same  dom 
inating,  wistful  entreaty  in  his  brown  eyes.  She  lowered 
her  head  until  her  cheek  rested  against  his,  and  his  arm  went 
upward  and  around  her  neck. 

"God — made  you — for  me"  he  whispered.  "I  love  you, 
and  my  name  is  Bob  McGraw.  I  guess — I  '11 — get  well. ' ' 

"Beloved,"  she  breathed,  "of  course  you'll  get  well.  I 
want  you  to."  She  smoothed  the  wavy  auburn  hair  back 
from  his  forehead.  "Go  to  sleep"  she  commanded. 
' '  You  can 't  talk  to  me  anv  more.  I  'm  going  to  go  to  sleep, 
too." 

She  drew  a  bright  Mexican  scrape  over  her  shoulders, 
sat  dowrn  in  a  rocking-chair  by  the  side  of  the  bed  and 
closed  her  eyes.  For  what  seemed  to  her  a  lapse  of  hours, 
although  in  reality  it  was  less  than  five  minutes,  she  tried 
to  induce  a  clever  counterfeit  of  sleep,  but  unable  longer 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  81 

to  deprive  herself  of  another  look  at  her  prize  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  gazed  at  Bob  McGraw.  To  her  almost  child 
ish  delight  he  was  watching  her;  and  then  she  noticed  his 
little,  cheerful,  half-mocking  smile. 

She  flushed  hotly.  For  the  first  time  she  permitted  the 
searchlight  of  reason  to  play  on  the  events  of  the  night,  and 
it  occurred  to  her  now  that  she  had  been  guilty  of  a  mon 
strous  breach  of  convention,  an  unprecedented,  unmaidenly 
action.  She  felt  like  crying  now,  with  the  thought  that 
she  had  held  herself  so  cheap.  Bob  M.cGraw  saw  the  flush 
and  the  pallor  that  followed  it.  He  read  the  unspoken 
thought  behind  the  changing  rush  of  color. 

"Don't  feel — that  way — about  it"  he  whispered  halt 
ingly.  "It's  unusual — but  then — you  and  I  are  unusual, 
too.  There  seems  to  be — perfect — understanding,  and  be 
tween  a — man  and  a  woman  that  means — perfect  peace. 
It  had  to — be.  It  was  preordained — our  meeting.  ^What 
is — your  name  ? ' ' 

Donna  again  told  him. 

"Nice — name.     Like  it." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  dropped  off  to  sleep  like  a  tired 
boy. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ONNA  sat  there  until  sunrise,  rocking  back  and 
forth,  striving  to  weave  an  orderly  pattern  of  rea 
son  out  of  the  tangle  of  unreason  in  which  she  found 
herself  when  confronted  by  that  look  in  Bob  McGraw's 
brown  eyes.  She  failed.  She  could  not  think  calmly. 
She  was  conscious  of  but  one  supreme  emotion  as  she  gazed 
at  this  man  who  had  ridden  into  her  life,  gun  in  hand. 
She  was  happy.  Heretofore  her  life  had  been  quiet,  even, 
unemotional,  always  the  same — and  now  she  was  happy, 
riotously,  deliriously  happy;  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her 
that  Bob  McGraw  might  die.  She  willed  that  he  should 
live,  for  life  was  love,  and  love — what  was  love?  Some 
thing  that  surged,  a  wave  of  exquisite  tenderness,  through 
Donna's  lonely  heart,  something  that  throbbed  in  the  tin- 
touched  recesses  of  her  womanhood,  arousing  in  her  a  fierce, 
almost  primitive  desire  to  possess  this  man,  to  fondle  his 
auburn  head,  to  caress  him,  to  work  for  him,  slave  for  him, 
to  show  her  gratitude  and  adoration  by  living  for  him,  and 
— if  need  be — by  dying  for  him ! 

It  occurred  to  her  presently  that  there  was  nothing  so 
very  unmaidenly  in  her  action,  after  all.  She  felt  no  dis 
tinct  loss  of  womanly  reserve — no  crumbling  of  the  foun 
dations  of  dignity.  She  still  had  those  attributes;  to-mor 
row,  when  she  returned  to  the  cashier's  counter  at  the 
eating-house,  she  would  still  have  these  defensive  weapons 
against  the  invasions  of  the  sensual,  smirking,  patronizing 
male  brutes  with  which  every  passing  train  appeared  to  be 
filled;  the  well-dressed,  hard-finished  city  men,  who  held 
her  cheap  because  she  presided  behind  an  eating-house  cash- 
register.  How  well  she  knew  their  quick,  bold  stares,  their 

82 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  83 

clumsy  subterfuges  to  enter  into  conversation  with  her; 
and  how  different  was  Bob  McGraw  to  such  as  they ! 

Here  at  last  was  the  reason,  unseen  and  unrecognized 
at  first,  manifesting  itself  merely  in  the  spontaneous  and 
unconscious  shattering  of  her  maidenly  reserve,  but  dis 
tinctly  visible  now.  It  was  not  that  Bob  McGraw  had 
come  to  her  out  of  the  desert  at  a  time  when  she  needed 
him  most;  it  was  not  that  he  came  in  all  the  bravery  and 
generous  sacrifice  of  youth,  shedding  his  blood  that  she 
might  not  shed  tears;  it  was  not  the  service  he  had  ren 
dered  her  that  made  her  love  him,  for  San  Pasqual  was 
''long"  on  mere  animal  courage.  It  was  the  adoration 
that  gleamed  in  his  eyes — an  adoring  stare,  revealing  re 
spect  behind  his  love — that  one  quality  without  which  love 
is  a  dead  and  withered  thing. 

She  knew  him  now — the  man  he  was.  She  saw  the  price 
less  pearl  of  character  he  possessed.  Bob  McGraw  was  a 
wild,  reckless,  unthinking,  impulsive  fellow,  perhaps,  but 
for  all  that  he  was  the  sort  of  man  at  whose  feet  women, 
both  good  and  bad,  have  laid  their  hearts  since  the  world 
began.  He  was  kind.  Harley  P.  Hennage  was  right. 
Bob  McGraw  was  a  Desert  Rat.  But  a  Desert  Rat  lives 
close  to  the  great  heart  of  Mother  Nature,  and  his  own 
heart  is  clean. 

The  dawn-light  came  filtering  across  the  desert  and  lit 
Up  the  room  where  she  sat.  She  turned  to  the  bed  and  sa\v 
that  Bob  McGraw  was  watching  her  again,  and  on  his  face 
Was  that  little,  cheerful,  mocking,  inscrutable  smile. 

Again  Donna  found  herself  powerless  to  resist  the  appeal 
in  the  man's  eyes.  She  was  crying  a  little  as  she  slipped'! 
to  her  knees  beside  the  bed  and  laid  her  cheek  against  his. 

"I  can't  help  it"  she  whispered.  "I  seem  to  have  loved 
you  always,  and  oh,  Bob,  dear,  you'll  be  very,  very  good 
to  me,  won 't  you  ?  You  must  be  brave  and  try  to  get  well, 
for  both  our  sakes.  We  need  each  other  so." 

Bob  McGraw  did  not  answer  readily.  He  was  too  busy 
thanking  God  for  the  great  gift  of  perfect  understanding. 


84  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Moreover,  he  had  a  perforated  lung  and  a  heart  whose 
duties  had  suddenly  been  increased  a  thousand-fold,  if  it 
was  to  hold  inviolate  this  sacred  joy  of  possession  which 
thrilled  him  now.  He  was  alert  and  conscious,  despite  the 
shock  of  his  wound,  and  the  reserve  strength  in  his  six 
feet  of  splendid  manhood  was  coming  to  his  aid.  "When 
he  could  trust  himself  to  speak,  he  said : 

"You're  a  very  wonderful  woman." 

' '  But  you  were  laughing  at  me — a  little. ' ' 

"Not  at  you,  at  Fate — the  great,  big,  bugaboo  Fate." 

"Why?"* 

"Because  I — can  afford  to.     My  luck's — turned." 

"You  dear,  big,  red-headed  philosopher." 

"And  you — didn't  you  save  my  hat?" 

"No,  dear.  Don't  worry  over  such  a  trifle  as  a  hat. 
I'll  give  you  a — " 

"But  this  was — a — good  hat"  he  complained.  "I  paid 
twenty  dollars — 

"Never  mind  your  old  hat.  Don't  talk.  I'm  selfish. 
I  want  to  listen  to  you,  but  for  all  that,  you  must  be  quiet." 

He  sighed.  Forget  all  about  that  big,  wide  sombrero — 
genuine  beaver — that  cost  him  twenty  dollars  only  a  week 
ago?  His  horse,  his  saddle,  his  hat,  his  spurs,  his  gun — 
he  was  particular  about  these  possessions,  for  in  his  way 
Mr.  McGraw  was  something  of  a  frontier  dandy.  His 
calm  contempt  of  life  and  death  amused  Donna  when  she 
compared  it  with  his  boyish  concern  for  his  dashing  equip 
ment.  Hats,  indeed!  Worrying  over  a  lost  hat  while  a 
guest  at  the  Hat  Ranch !  If  Bob  McGraw  could  only  have 
understood  Donna  Corblay's  contempt  for  hats  he  would 
never  have  mentioned  the  matter  twice. 

She  gauged  the  size  of  his  red  head  with  the  practiced 
eye  of  one  who  has  sold  many  hats. 

"Seven  and  a  quarter"  she  mused  fondly.  "Wouldn't 
he  look  splendid  in  that  big  new  Stetson  that  blew  in  the 
day  before  yesterday !  You  great  big  man-baby.  I  '11  save 
that  one  for  you." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  85 

And  having  decided  this  momentous  question  of  hats, 
she  kissed  him  and  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to  prepare 
breakfast  for  Doctor  Taylor  and  Harley  P.  Hennage. 

After  having  breakfasted  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  Harley  P. 
Hennage  helped  himself  to  Bob  McGraw's  automatic  gun, 
reloaded  it  and  walked  back  to  San  Pasqual.  He  had 
never  carried  a  gun  before,  but  something  seemed  to  tell 
him  that  he  might  need  one  to-day.  Borax  O'Rourke  gen 
erally  carried  one  and  if  Borax  had  talked,  Mr.  Hennage 
meant  to  chastise  him.  In  consequence  of  which  decision, 
Mr.  Hennage,  like  a  good  gambler,  decided  to  fill  his  hand 
and  not  be  caught  bluffing. 

Arrived  outside  the  Silver  Dollar,  Harley  P.  immedi 
ately  found  himself  greatly  in  demand.  Borax  O'Rourke, 
having  told  all  he  knew,  which  was  little  enough,  and 
aching  to  supply  further  details,  was  the  first  man  to 
accost  him. 

"Well,  Hennage,"  he  began,  "what's  the  latest?  Any 
more  kissin'  goin'  on?" 

Mr.  Hennage 's  baleful  eyes  scouted  the  mule-skinner's 
person  for  evidence  of  hardware.  Observing  none,  he  said 
fiercely  "You  mutton-headed  duffer!"  and  for  the  first 
time  within  the  memory  of  the  citizens  of  San  Pasqual  he 
had  recourse  to  his  hands.  He  clasped  Mr.  O'Rourke 
fondly  around  the  neck  and  choked  him  until  his  eyes 
threatened  to  pop  out,  the  while  he  shook  O'Rourke  as  a 
terrier  shakes  a  rat.  Then,  after  two  prodigious  parting 
kicks,  accurately  gauged  and  delivered,  the  gambler  crossed 
over  to  the  hotel,  leaving  the  garrulous  one  to  pick  himself 
out  of  the  dust,  gasping  like  a  chicken  with  the  pip.  It  is 
worthy  of  remark  that  the  discomfiture  of  Borax  0  'Rourke 
was  observed  by  Mrs.  Daniel  Pennycook,  who  having  noted 
from  afar  the  approach  of  Mr.  Hennage,  had  endeavored  to 
intercept  him  first.  Judging  from  his  hasty  action  that 
the  gambler  was  not  in  that  state  of  mind  most  propitious 
to  the  dissemination  of  the  information  which  she  sought, 


86  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Mrs.  Pennycook  decided  to  bide  her  time  and  returned  IxJ 
her  cottage  and  her  neglected  housework. 

Mr.  Hennage  went  at  once  to  his  room,  where  he  lay 
down  and  went  to  sleep.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  was 
awakened  by  a  knocking  at  his  door.  He  sprang  out  of 
bed  and  unlocked  the  door,  and  Dan  Pennycook  came  into 
the  room. 

"Hello,  Dan"  the  gambler  greeted  him.  "You  look 
worried. ' ' 

"You  would  too,  if  you  knew  what  I  know"  replied 
Pennycook.  He  sat  down.  "Harley,  old  man,  you've  laid 
violent  hands  on  a  mighty  hard  character." 

"Well,"  retorted  the  gambler,  "ain't  that  the  kind  to  lay 
violent  hands  on?  You  wouldn't  expect  me  to  choke  old 
[Judge  Kenny,  or  that  little  Jap  laundryman,  would  you?" 

"But  O'Rourke  is  dangerous.  He's  got  two  guns 
reachin'  down  to  his  hocks  an'  he's  tellin'  everybody  he'll 
get  you  on  sight." 

"Barkin'  dogs  never  bite,  Dan.  However,  I  wish  you'd 
carry  a  message  for  me.  Will  you?" 

"Who  to?" 

"The  dangerous  Mr.  O'Rourke.  Tell  him  from  me  he'd 
better  go  back  to  the  borax  works  at  Keeler,  where  he  got 
his  nickname,  an'  take  up  his  old  job  o'  skinnin'  mules. 
Tell  him  I'll  loan  him  that  roan  pony  in  the  corral,  an'  he 
can  saddle  up  an'  git.  Tell  him  to  send  the  little  horse 
back  with  the  stage-driver.  I  want  him  to  ride  out  to 
night,  Dan.  Tell  him  it's  an  order." 

Pennycook  nodded.  "If  I  was  you,  though,  Harley,  I'd 
heel  myself." 

The  gambler  opened  a  bureau  drawer  and  brought  forth 
Bob  McGraw's  automatic  pistol.  He  smiled  brightly. 

"No  use  givin'  orders  unless  a  feller  can  back  'em  up, 
Dan"  he  said.  "Thanks  for  the  hint,  though.  Of  course 
you'll  tell  Borax  privately.  No  use  arousin'  his  pride 
lettin'  the  whole  town  know  he  had  to  go.  He's  a  rat, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  87 

but  a  rat  11  fight  when  he's  cornered — an'  I  don't  want  to 
kill  him." 

"I  will"  replied  Mr.  Pennycook.  "I'd  hate  to  see  any 
more  trouble  in  this  town." 

"Thank  you,  Dan." 

"Donna  all  right?" 

"Yes." 

"Who's  the  feller  that  interfered?" 

"Stranger  ridin'  through." 

"Hard  hit?" 

"Right  lung.     He'll  pull  through." 

"Hope  so"  responded  the  amiable  yardmaster,  and  left. 
Mr.  Hennage  got  back  into  bed  and  pulled  the  sheet  over 
him  again.  But  it  was  too  hot  to  sleep,  so  he  lay  there, 
rubbing  his  chin  and  thinking.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he 
heard  the  sound  of  a  horse  loping  through  the  street  be 
neath  his  window.  He  sprang  up  and  looked  out,  just  in 
time  to  see  Borax  O'Rourke  riding  out  of  town  on  Bob 
McGraw's  roan  bronco. 

Mr.    Hennage   permitted   himself   a    quiet   little   smile. 
"Now  there  goes  the  star  witness  for  the  prosecution"  hp 
mused.     "But  I'll  stay  an'  tell  'em  Borax  was  mistaken 
I  guess,  even  if  I  ain  't  a  gentleman,  I  can  lie  like  one. ' ' 

He  bathed  and  dressed  and  started  over  to  the  post- 
office — not  because  he  expected  any  mail,  for  he  did  not. 
No  one  ever  wrote  to  Mr.  Hennage.  But  he  had  seen  Mrs. 
Pennycook  dodging  into  the  post-office,  and  it  was  his  in 
tention  to  have  a  quiet  little  conversation  with  the  lady. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  post-office,  however,  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook  was  not  in  sight.  Mr.  Hennage  stepped  lightly  inside, 
and  at  that  moment  he  heard  Miss  Molly  Pickett,  the  post- 
mistress,  exclaim: 

"Well,  for  the  land's  sake!" 

"It's  a  fact,  Miss  Pickett.     She  kissed  him!" 

The  voices  came  from  the  inner  office,  behind  the  tier 
of  lock  boxes.  Realizing  that  he  was  in  a  public  place, 


88  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Mr.  Hennage  did  not  feel  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  an 
nounce  his  presence  by  coughing  or  shuffling  his  feet.  He 
remained  discreetly  silent,  therefore,  and  Mrs.  Pennycook  's 
voice  resumed: 

' '  She  had  him  taken  right  down  to  the  Hat  Ranch,  of  all 
places.  Of  course  it  wouldn't  do  to  bring  him  up  town, 
where  he  could  be  looked  after.  Of  course  not !  He  might 
be  sent  to  a  hospital  and  she  wouldn't  have  a  chance  to 
look  after  him  herself.  I  never  heard  of  such  carryings-on, 
Miss  Pickett.  It's  so  scandalous  like." 

Miss  Pickett  sighed.     ""Who  is  he?"  she  demanded. 

"That's  what  nobody  can  find  out.  I  told  Dan  to  ask 
Harley  Hennage,  but  you  know  how  stupid  a  man  is.  I 
don't  suppose  he  even  asked." 

' '  "Well,  all  I  've  got  to  say,  Mrs.  Pennycook,  is  that  Donna 
Corblay  's  taking  a  mighty  big  interest  in  a  man  she 's  never 
even  been  introduced  to.  Still,  I'm  not  surprised  at  any 
thing  she'd  do,  the  stuck-up  thing.  She  just  thinks  she's 
it,  with  her  new  hats  and  a  different  wash-dress  every  week, 
and  her  high  an'  mighty  way  of  looking  at  people.  She 
could  have  been  married  long  ago  if  she  wasn't  so 
stuck-up. ' ' 

"Oh,  nobody's  good  enough  for  her"  sneered  Mrs.  Pen 
nycook.  "If  a  dook  was  to  ask  her  she  wouldn't  have  him. 
She'd  sooner  make  fools  of  half  the  married  men  in  town." 

"She  thinks  she's  too  good  for  San  Pasqual"  Miss  Pickett 
supplemented. 

"I  suppose  she  imagines  her  grand  airs  make  her  a 
lady,"  Mrs.  Pennycook  deprecated,  "but  for  my  part,  I 
think  it  shows  that  she 's  kinder  vulgar  like. ' ' 

""Well,  what  do  you  think  o'  last  night's  performance?" 
Miss  Pickett  demanded. 

"I  can't  think,  dearie"  murmured  Mrs.  Pennycook 
weakly.  "I'm  so  shocked  like.  It's  hard  to  believe.  I 
know  the  girl  for  a  sly,  scheming,  hoity-toity  flirt,  but  tc 
think  that  she'd  act  so  low  like!  Who  told  you  she  kissed 
him?" 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  89 

"Borax  O'Rourke." 

"He  told  everybody." 

"Well,  then,  if  it's  got  around,  public  like,  "we  can't 
shield  her,  Miss  Pickett,  an'  I  guess  it's  no  use  trying. 
Water  will  seek  its  own  level,  Miss  Pickett.  You  remem 
ber  her  mother.  Nobody  ever  knew  a  thing  about  her,  an' 
you  remember  the  talk  that  used  to  be  goin'  around  about 
her." 

"The  tree  grows  as  the  twig  is  bent"  Miss  Pickett  mur 
mured. 

"I'll  say  this  much,  though,  Miss  Pickett"  continued 
Mrs.  Penny  cook.  "You're  a  woman  an'  so'm  I,  an'  you 
know,  just  as  well  as  I  do,  that  no  man  or  set  o'  men  ever 
looks  twice  at  any  respectable  woman  that  goes  right  along 
tendin'  to  her  business.  You  know  that,  Miss  Pickett.  A 
man's  got  to  have  some  encouragement." 

"Well"  Miss  Pickett  was  forced  to  remark.  "I've  been 
postmistress  an'  assistant  postmistress  here  for  fifteen 
years,  an'  nobody's  ever  insulted  me,  or  tried  to  flirt  with 
me.  I  can  take  my  oath  on  that. ' ' 

"I  believe  you,  Miss  Pickett"  interrupted  Harley  P. 
Hennage  serenely.  "Even  in  a  tough  town  like  San  Pas- 
qual  human  courage  has  its  limitations." 

Miss  Pickett  flew  to  the  delivery  window  and  looked  out. 
Harley  P.  was  looking  in. 

"Is  that  so?"  sneered  Miss  Pickett. 

"Looks  like  it"  retorted  the  gambler.  "You're  Ex 
hibit  A  to  prove  it,  ain't  you,  Miss  Pickett?  I  hope  I  see 
you  well,  Mrs.  Pennycook"  he  added. 

"So  you're  back,  are  you?"  Mrs.  Pennycook 's  voice 
dripped  with  sarcasm. 

"Yes,  I've  been  away  three  years,  but  I  see  time  ain't 
softened  the  tongues  nor  sharpened  the  consciences  o'  some 
of  my  old  lady  friends.  You're  out  late  this  afternoon, 
Mrs.  P.,  with  your  scandal  an'  your  gossip." 

"There  ain't  no  mail  for  you,  Mr.  Card  Sharp"  Miss 
Pickett  informed  him  acidly. 


90  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"I  didn't  call  for  any"  the  gambler  replied,  and  eyed 
her  sternly.  She  quivered  under  his  glance,  and  he  turned 
to  Mrs.  Pennycook.  "Would  you  oblige  me,  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook,  with  a  few  minutes  of  your  valuable  time — where 
Miss  Pickett  can't  hear  us  talk?  Miss  Pickett,  you  can  go 
right  on  readin'  the  postal  cards." 

"I'm  a  respectable  woman — "  Mrs.  Pennycook  began. 

"Well,  it  ain't  ketchin',  I  guess"  he  retorted.  "I  ain't 
afraid." 

"What  do  you  want?  If  you've  got  anything  to  say  to 
me,  speak  right  out  in  meeting." 

''Not  here"  the  gambler  answered.    "It'll  keep." 

He  walked  out  of  the  post-office  and  waited  until  Mrs. 
Pennycook  came  by. 

"Mrs.  Pennycook,  ma'am." 

She  tilted  her  nose  and  glanced  at  him  scornfully,  but 
did  not  stop. 

"It's  about  Joe"  the  gambler  called  after  her. 

If  he  had  struck  her  she  could  not  have  stopped  more 
quickly.  She  turned,  facing  him,  her  chin  trembling. 

"I  thought  you'd  stop"  he  assured  her.  "Nothin'  like 
shakin'  the  bones  of  a  family  skeleton  to  bring  down  the 
mighty  from  their  perch.  Bless  you,  Mrs.  Pennycook,  this 
thing  o'  bein'  respectable  must  be  hard  on  the  constitution. 
Havin'  been  low  an'  worthless  all  my  life,  I  suppose  I  can't 
really  appreciate  what  it  means  to  a  respectable  lady  with 
a  angelic  relative  like  your  brother." 

The  drawling  words  fell  on  the  gossip  like  a  rain  of 
blows.  Her  eyelids  grew  suddenly  red  and  watery. 

"It  ain't  a  man's  trick  to  hammer  you  like  this,  Mrs. 
Pennycook,"  the  gambler  continued,  almost  sadly,  "but 
for  a  lady  that's  livin'  in  a  glass  house,  you're  too  fond  o' 
chuckin'  stones,  an'  it's  got  to  stop.  Hereafter,  if  you've 
got  somethin'  to  say  about  Donna  Corblay  you  see  that  it's 
somethin'  nice.  You  gabbed  about  her  mother  when  she 
was  alive,  and  the  minute  I  saw  you  streakin'  it  over  to 
Miss  Pkkett  I  knew  you  were  at  it  again.  Now  you  do 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  91 

any  more  mud-slingin',  Mrs.  Pennycook,  and  I'll  tell  San 
Pasqual  about  that  thug  of  a  brother  o'  yours.  He's  out  o' 
San  Quentin. " 

"But  his  time  wasn't  up,  Mr.  Hennage,"  wailed  Mrs- 
Pennycook.  "He  got  fifteen  years." 

"He  served  half  of  it  and  was  paroled." 

Mrs.  Pennycook  bowed  her  head  and  quivered.  "Then 
he'll  be  around  here  again,  blackmailing  poor  Dan  an'  me 
out  of  our  savings."  She  commenced  to  cry. 

"No,  he  won't.  I'll  protect  you  from  him,  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook.  I  want  to  make  a  bargain  with  you.  Every  time 
you  hear  any  of  the  long-tongued  people  in  this  town  takin ' 
a  crack  at  Donna  Corblay  because  they  don't  understand 
her  and  she  won't  tell  'em  all  her  business,  you  speak  a 
good  word  for  her.  Understand?  And  the  first  thing  to 
morrow  mornin '  I  want  you  to  get  out  an '  nail  that  lie  that 
Donna  Corblay  kissed  the  feller  that  saved  her  from  them 
tramps  last  night.  It's  a  lie,  Mrs.  Pennycook.  I  was  there, 
an'  I  know.  I  ordered  O'Rourke  out  o'  town  for  circu- 
latin'  that  yarn.  Suppose  this  town  knew  your  twin 
brother  was  a  murderer  an'  a  highwayman?  Would  they 
keep  still  about  it?" 

"No"  faltered  Mrs.  Pennycook. 

"I  can  keep  Joe  away  from  you.  I  have  somethin'  on 
him.  You'll  never  see  him  again.  I'll  save  you  from 
gossip  an'  blackmail,  but  you've  got  to  take  programme." 

"I  will"  Mrs.  Pennycook  promised  him  fervently. 

"Then  it's  a  go"  said  Harley  P.  and  walked  away.  He 
.'returned  to  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon,  smiling  a  little  at  the 
(joke  in  which  he  had  indulged  at  the  expense  of  Mrs.  Pen 
nycook.  He  had  informed  her  that  he  had  "something  on" 
her  brother  Joe,  but  he  had  neglected  to  inform  her  what 
the  "something"  was  which  he  had  "on"  brother  Joe. 
Mr.  Hennage  could  see  no  profit  in  telling  her  that  it  was 
a  blood-stained  tarpaulin,  under  which  Mrs.  Pennycook '3 
brother  reposed,  quite  dead,  in  the  back  room  of  the  stage 
stable,  to  which  impromptu  morgue  Joseph,  with  his  two 


92  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

companions,  had  been  borne  by  the  committee  of  citizens 
headed  by  the  constable,  shortly  after  the  elimination  of 
the  trio  by  Mr.  Bob  McGraw. 

No,  Mr.  Hennage,  while  a  man  of  firmness  and  resource, 
was  not  brutal.  He  contrived,  however,  to  avoid  identifi 
cation  of  the  body  by  keeping  Dan  Pennycook  from  attend 
ing  the  coroner's  inquest,  for  he  was  a  good  gambler  and 
never  wasted  a  trump. 

' '  I  never  knew  there  was  such  fun  at  funerals ' '  he  solilo 
quized  while  returning  from  the  cemetery.  He  bit  a  large 
piece  out  of  his  "chewing"  and  gazed  around  him.  "Dog 
gone  it"  he  muttered,  "if  this  ain't  the  worst  town  in  Cali 
fornia  for  killin's.  I  never  did  see  such  a  one-horse  camp 
with  such  a  big  potter's  field.  If  I  wasn't  a  inquisitive 
old  hunks  I'd  get  out  of  such  a  pesky  hole  P.  D.  Q.  I 
wouldn't  a'  come  back  in  the  first  place  if  it  hadn't  a'  been 
for  that  Joe  person.  Dog-gone  him ! ' ' 

This  was  quite  true.  For  some  months  Mr.  Hennage 
had  been  running  a  game  in  Bakersfield,  which,  at  that 
time,  was  a  wide  open  town,  just  beginning  to  boom  under 
the  impetus  of  rich  oil  strikes.  It  had  been  one  of  his  di 
versions,  outside  of  business  hours,  to  walk  down  to  the 
freight  yards  once  a  week  and  fraternize  with  the  railroad 
boys.  In  this  way  he  managed  to  keep  track  of  affairs  in 
San  Pasqual.  Upon  the  occasion  of  his  last  trip  to  the 
freight  yards  he  had  spied  Mrs.  Pennycook 's  brother  dodg 
ing  into  an  empty  box-car.  Mr.  Hennage  had  seen  this 
worthy  upon  the  occasion  of  his  (Joe's)  last  visit  to  San 
Pasqual,  the  object  of  the  said  visit  having  been  imparted 
to  him  by  Dan  Pennycook  himself.  Having  no  money 
available  for  the  blackmailer,  poor  Pennycook  had  come  to 
Hennage  to  borrow  it.  Upon  the  occasion  of  the  payment 
of  the  loan,  Pennycook  informed  Mr.  Hennage  joyfully 
that  Joe  was  out  of  the  way  for  fifteen  years  and  Mr.  Hen 
nage  had  rejoiced  with  the  yardmaster.  Hence,  when  Mr. 
Hennage  observed  Joe  sneak  into  the  box-car,  he  at  once 
surmised  that  Joe  was  broke  and  headed  for  San  Pasqual 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  93 

to  renew  his  fortunes.  Having  a  warm  spot  in  his  heart 
for  Dan  Pennycook,  Mr.  Hennage  instantly  decided  to  fol 
low  Joe  in  another  box-ear,  which,  in  brief,  is  the  reason 
why  he  had  returned  to  San  Pasqual. 

Presently  Mr.  Hennage  paused  and  glanced  across  the 
blistering  half-mile  of  desert,  to  where  the  sun  glinted  on 
the  dun  walls  of  the  Hat  Ranch.  In  the  middle  distance  a 
dashing  girlish  figure  in  a  blue  dress  was  walking  up  the 
tracks. 

Mr.  Hennage 's  three  gold  teeth  flashed  like  heliographs. 

"This  world  is  so  full  o'  a  number  o'  things, 
I'm  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings" 

he  quoted,  and  walked  across  to  meet  her. 


CHAPTER  VII 

EARLY  in  the  forenoon  of  the  day  following  Bob 
McGraw's  spectacular  advent  into  San  Pasqual,  the 
nurse   for   whom   Doc   Taylor  had   telephoned   to 
Bakersfield  arrived  at  the  Hat  Ranch.     She  proved  to  be 
a  kind  middle-aged  woman,  devoted  to  her  profession  and 
thoroughly  competent  to  do  everything  for  Bob  McGraw 
that  could  be  done.     Her  arrival  released  Donna  from  the 
care  of  watching  the  wounded  man,  and  she  rested  at  last. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  she  appeared  again 
in  the  sick  room,  when  she  was  overjoyed  to  learn  of  the 
change  in  Bob's  condition.  There  was  no  further  hemor 
rhage  from  the  wound,  although  his  pulse  was  racing  at 
several  degrees  above  normal.  He  was  awake  when  Donna 
entered  the  room  and  greeted  her  with  a  weak  smile  of  wel 
come.  It  may  be  that  at  the  moment  Mr.  McGraw  fondly 
hoped  that  he  might  be  further  rewarded  with  another  kiss ; 
but  if  so  he  was  disappointed.  Donna  favored  him  with 
nothing  more  tangible  than  a  rather  sad,  wistful,  inter 
ested  scrutiny,  and  then,  satisfied  that  he  was  making  his 
fight,  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  whereupon  Mr.  Mc 
Graw,  disregarding  his  nurse's  explicit  instructions,  pre 
sumed  to  enter  into  conversation. 

"Hello,  Donna,"  he  whispered,  "aren't  you  going  to 
speak  to  a  fellow  ? ' ' 

Donna  shook  her  head. 

"But  I  might  die"  he  pleaded  piteously.  The  nurse 
intervened. 

"Nobody's  worried  over  that  remote  contingency,"  she 
retorted,  "so  do  not  endeavor  to  seek  sympathy." 

He  looked  at  her  so  tragically  that  she  could  not  forbear 
a  little  laugh,  as  she  ordered  Donna  to  leave  the  room. 

94 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  95 

"The  right  of  free  speech — and  free  assemblage,"  Mr. 
McGraw  protested  hoarsely,  "is  guaranteed  to — every 
American  citizen — under  the  con — " 

"Silence!"  commanded  the  nurse. 

Mr.  McGraw  muttered  something  about  gag  rule  and  the 
horror  of  being  mollycoddled,  sighed  dismally  and  pre 
dicted  his  death  within  the  hour.  Donna  left  the  roomt 
and  he  was  forced  to  amuse  himself,  until  he  fell  asleep, 
watching  the  antics  of  an  inquisitive  lizard  which  in  turn 
was  watching  him  from  a  crack  in  the  sun-baked  adobe 
Iwall.  As  for  Donna,  the  very  fact  that  Bob  was  still  a 
fighter  and  a  rebel  proved  conclusively  that  within  a  week 
he  would  be  absolutely  unmanageable.  This  thought  was 
productive  of  such  joy  in  Donna's  heart  that  she  became  a 
rebel  herself.  In  the  bright  evening  she  took  her  guitar 
and  went  out  into  the  patio,  where  she  stood  under  Bob's 
window  and  sang  for  him  a  plaintive  little  Spanish  love 
song.  Donna's  voice,  while  untrained,  was,  nevertheless, 
•well  pitched,  sweet  and  true,  and  to  Bob  McGraw,  who  for 
three  years  had  not  heard  a  woman's  voice  raised  in  song, 
the  simple  melody  was  a  treat  indeed. 

The  nurse  came  out,  looked  at  her  and  laughed,  as  who 
would  not;  for  all  the  world  loves  a  lover,  and  the  nurse 
was  very  human. 

"That's  quite  irregular,  Miss  Corblay,"  she  commented, 
"but  in  this  particular  case  I  believe  it  has  a  soothing 
effect.  Mr.  McGraw  has  promised  me  that  he  will  be  very, 
good  if  I  can  induce  you  to  sing  for  him  every  evening. 
He  said  'Bravo'  three  times." 

"Then  he  has  decided  not  to  die  after  all." 

"I  think  he  has  changed  his  mind." 

"I'll  sing  him  to  sleep"  Donna  answered — and  forth 
with  did  so.  And  that  night,  when  she  retired,  she  could 
not  sleep  herself  for  the  happiness  that  was  hers;  that  ex 
cessive  happiness  which,  more  poignant  than  pain,  is  often 
productive  of  tears. 

The  wounded  man  slept  well  that  night.    If  he  suffered 


96  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

nobody  knew  it.  In  the  morning  his  condition  was  slightly 
improved,  and  after  hearing  a  most  cheerful  and  favorable 
report  from  both  doctor  and  nurse,  Donna  decided  not  to 
prejudice  her  position  at  the  eating-house  by  staying  away 
another  day,  and  accordingly  she  set  off  up  the  track  to  the 
town.  She  was  half-way  there  when  she  observed  Ilarley 
P.  Hennage  walking  toward  her  from  the  direction  of  the 
cemetery. 

"Well,  Miss  Donna,"  he  began  as  he  approached,  "how 
are  you  after  the  battle?" 

"Still  a  little  shaky,  Mr.  Hennage,  but  not  enough  to 
prevent  my  going  to  work.  I  can  count  change,  to-day, 
I  think." 

"Good  news,  good  news.  If  I  was  governor  of  tn'is 
tstate  I'd  declare  to-day  a  legal  holiday.  How's  the 
wounded  hero?  Able  to  sit  up  and  take  some  food?" 

' '  No,  no  food  as  yet.  Nothing  but  nutriment.  "Who  ever 
heard  of  a  sick  man  getting  anything  but  that?" 

Mr.  Hennage  showed  his  three  gold  teeth.  "Ain't  Mrs. 
Penny  cook  been  down  with  a  plate  o'  calf's-foot  jelly  or 
somethin'  o'  that  nature?"  he  asked. 

It  was  Donna's  turn  to  laugh.  "I  hardly  think  she'll 
come.  She  hasn't  given  me  a  friendly  look  in  three  years." 

"Well,  of  course,  you  haven't  needed  her,"  the  gambler 
reminded  her,  "but  she'll  be  droppin'  in  before  long,  now 
— Bob  McGraw's  a  stranger  in  town,  an'  entitled  to  the 
kindly  services  o'  the  community  as  a  whole,  so  Mrs.  P. 
can  show  up  at  the  Hat  Ranch  under  those  conditions  with 
out  unbendin '  her  dignity. ' ' 

"I  suppose  she  is  kind  enough  in  her  way,"  Donna 
began,  "but—" 

"You  don't  like  her  way,  eh?" 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  inclined  to  be  uncharitable  at  times." 

"Nonsense!"  he  corrected.  "Ain't  you  been  a'  nursin' 
the  sick?" 

"Yes.    Which  reminds  me  that  you,  also,  have  been  per- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  97 

forming  one  of  the  works  of  mercy.     You  came  from  the 
eeiaetery,  did  you  not?" 

"Yes,  I've  been  buryin'  the  dead.  They  had  me  as  wit 
ness  on  the  coroner's  jury  last  night,  an'  after  the  jury 
decided  that  it  was  justifiable  homicide,  there  was  nothin' 
to  do  but  plant  the  three  o'  'em — before  the  sun  got  too 
high.  But  let's  take  up  some  live  topic — " 

Again  Donna  laughed,  for  while  Harley  P.'s  humor  was 
rather  grim,  Donna  had  lived  long  enough  in  San  Pasqual 
to  appreciate  it.  The  big  gambler  loved  to  see  her  laugh, 
and  the  thought  that  she  was  courageous  enough  to  enjoy 
his  jest,  considering  the  terrible  experience  which  she  had 
lately  undergone,  filled  him  with  manly  admiration. 

"It's  another  joke,"  he  began  presently,  "only  this  time 
it's  on  San  Pasqual.  I  want  to  put  up  a  job  on  the  town, 
an'  you've  got  to  help  me,  Miss  Donna." 

Donna  gave  him  a  graceful  travesty  of  a  military  salute. 

"  'Onward,  Heart  of  Bruce,  and  I  will  follow  thee,'  ' 
she  quoted.    "But  before  you  explain  your  plans,  tell  me 
what  has  poor  little  San  Pasqual  been  doing  of  late  to  earn 
your  enmity!" 

"Nothin'  much.  The  town  ain't  no  worse  than  any 
other  one-horse  camp  for  wantin'  to  know  everybody's 
business  but  its  own.  They  never  found  out  any  o'  mine, 
though,  you  can  bank  on  that ;  and  it  always  hurt  'em  be 
cause  they  never  found  out  any  of  your  poor  mother's 
when  she  was  livin'.  An'  since  your  trouble  the  other 
night,  they're  all  itchin'  to  learn  the  name  o'  the  brave 
that  saved  you.  Some  o'  the  coroner's  jury  was  for  callin' 
you  to  testify  at  the  inquest,  but  considerin'  the  hard  looks 
o'  the  deceased  an'  what  you  told  me — an'  what  Borax 
O'Rourke  told  everybody  else  before  he  left  town  yester 
day,  I  prevailed  on  Doc  Taylor  to  testify  that  you  weren't 
in  no  fit  frame  o'  mind  to  face  the  music,  so  they  con 
cluded  to  bring  in  a  verdict  miiy  pronto,  an*  let  it  go  at 
that.  They  tell  me  there's  been  a  plague  o'  hard  charac- 


98  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

ters  droppin'  off  here  lately,  an'  anyway,  to  make  a  long 
story  short,  the  boys  rendered  a  verdict  on  general  princi 
ples  an'  there  ain't  no  news  for  the  rest  o'  the  town — par 
ticularly  the  women.  The  way  some  of  them  women's  been 
dodgin'  back  and  forth  between  their  own  homes  and  the 
post-office,  you'd  think  it  was  the  finish  of  a  jack-rabbit 
drive.  They're  just  plumb  loco,  Miss  Donna,  to  find  out 
the  name  o'  this  gallant  stranger  that  saved  you.  They 
want  to  know  what  he  looks  like,  the  color  o'  his  hair  an' 
how  he  parts  it,  how  he  ties  his  necktie,  an'  if  he  votes  the 
Republican  ticket  straight  and  believes  in  damnation  for 
infants. ' ' 

' '  I  see, ' '  said  Donna,  ' '  and  you  want  to  let  them  suffer^ 
do  you?" 

"I  wouldn't  wag  my  tongue  to  save  'em"  he  retorted 
bitterly.  "Now  here's  the  programme.  You've  got  young 
McGraw  bottled  up  there  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  and  I  want 
you  to  keep  him  there  until  he's  able  to  walk  away  without 
any  assistance,  an'  all  that  time  don't  you  let  nobody  see 
him.  I've  got  Doe  Taylor  fixed  already,  which  was  easy, 
Doc  bein'  a  bachelor — an'  now  if  you  stand  in  we'll  have 
'em  goin'  south.  On  account  o'  bein'  postmistress  an'  in 
a  position  to  get  all  the  news,  the  town's  lookin'  to  Misa 
Pickett  to  produce,  an'  if  she  can't  produce,  I'm  hopin* 
she'll  go  into  convulsions." 

"Mr.  Hennage,"  said  Donna,  "this  is  most  unworthy  of 
you.  I  didn't  think  you  would  harbor  a  grudge." 

"Why,  you  know  my  reputation,  Miss  Donna." 

"Yes,  you're  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual.  But  I'm 
afraid  I  can't  agree  to  enter  into  this  conspiracy." 

"Why  not?" 

"It's  unlawful." 

"Miss  Donna,  I'm  serious — " 

"It's  cruel  and  unusual  punishment — 

"I'd  light  a  fire  under  'em"  said  Harley  P.  ferociously.; 
"Better  stand  in,  Miss  Donna — to  oblige  me," 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  99 

"All  right,  it's  a  go,  if  you  put  it  that  way." 
"Shake!  You'll  enjoy  it,  Miss  Donna.  You'll  find 
yourself  real  popular  when  you  get  up  to  the  hotel.  Some 
o'  the  natives  was  thinkin'  o'  bringin'  their  blankets  an' 
three  days'  rations,  an'  campin'  in  front  o'  the  hotel  until 
you  arrived.  Well,  good-by,  till  supper-time.  I'm  goin' 
to  breeze  along  down  to  the  Hat  Ranch  an'  warn  the  nurse 
agin  spies  an'  secret  emissaries  masqueradin'  as  angels  o' 
mercy. ' ' 

He  waved  his  big  hand  at  her  and  waddled  down  the 
track  toward  the  Hat  Ranch.  Arrived  there,  he  intro 
duced  himself  to  the  nurse  and  made  a  few  perfunctory 
inquiries  regarding  the  condition  of  her  patient,  after 
which,  with  many  premonitory  coughs,  he  ventured  to  out 
line  his  campaign  as  San  Pasqual's  official  news  censor. 
The  nurse  was  not  lacking  in  a  sense  of  humor,  and  readily 
agreed  to  enlist  under  the  banner  of  Harley  P. 

"An'  remember,"  he  warned  her,  as  he  prepared  to 
leave,  "to  look  sharp  if  you  see  a  forty-five-year-old  dam- 
sel,  with  a  little  bright  red  face,  all  ears  an'  no  chin,  like 
the  ace  o'  hearts.  That'll  be  Miss  Pickett.  She'll  have 
with  her,  like  as  not,  a  stout  married  lady,  all  gab  an' 
gizzard,  like  a  crow,  an'  a  mouth  like  a  new  buttonhole. 
That'll  be  Mrs.  Pennycook.  Look  out  for  'em  both.  They 
talk!" 

And  having  played  this  unworthy  trick  on  the  gossips 
of  San  Pasqual,  Mr.  Hennage  returned  to  town  in  a  sin 
gularly  cheerful  state  of  mind,  and  devoted  the  balance  of 
the  day  to  the  duties  of  his  profession. 

That  night,  when  he  went  to  his  dinner  at  the  eating- 
house,  he  stopped  at  the  counter  to  have  a  little  chat  with 
Donna. 

"What  luck?  "he  asked. 

"I  declare  I'm  almost  exhausted.  I've  been  dodging 
questions  and  tripping  over  hints  all  day  long." 

"Miss  Pickett  come  over  to  offer  sympathy." 


ioo  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Yes." 

"Hu-u-um!  An'  after  she  went  away,  I  suppose  Mrs, 
Pennycook  come  in  as  thick  as  three  in  a  bed?" 

"She  was  very  nice." 

"She'd  better  be"  he  remarked,  and  Donna  thought  that 
beneath  the  jocularity  of  his  manner  she  detected  a  menace. 

"What  have  you  heard?"  she  queried. 

"I've  heard,"  he  replied  deliberately,  "that  Donna  Cor- 
blay  is  harboring  a  desperate  character  in  her  home." 

"I  heard  something  else  to-day.  While  we're  gossip 
ing,  Mr.  Ilennage,  I'll  tell  you  the  latest — the  very  latest. 
It 's  reported  that  Dan  Pennycook  is  drinking. ' ' 

"No!"  Mr.  Hennage  was  concerned.  He  was  fond  of 
Dan  Pennycook.  "Who  told  you?"  he  inquired. 

"He  was  seen  buying  a  bottle  of  port  wine  in  the  Silver 
Dollar  saloon  this  afternoon,  and  you  know  his  wife  is 
strictly  temperance." 

"Oh,  shucks!  There's  nothin'  to  that  report.  I  can 
account  for  that  just  as  easy  as  lookin'  through  a  hoop. 
It's  goin'  to  be  wine  jelly,  after  all.  I  thought  maybe 
it  might  be  calf's-foot,  but—"  he  broke  off.  "I  wish," 
he  said  earnestly,  "I  could  get  hold  of  a  low-spirited  billy 
goat,  Miss  Donna,  an'  tie  him  to  your  front  gate  when 
Mrs.  P.  arrives.  You  want  to  warn  the  nurse,  Miss  Donna. 
Remember  what  the  old  sharp  in  the  big  book  says:  'Be 
ware  o'  the  Greeks  when  they  come  into  camp  with  gifts.' 
Hey,  Josephine!" 

He  hailed  his  waitress. 

"About  twenty-five  dollars'  worth  o'  ham  an'  eggs,"  he 
ordered,  "with  some  pig's  ear  and  cauliflower  on  the  side. 
I  ain't  had  such  a  big  appetite  for  my  grub  since  I  was 
a  boy." 

That  evening,  when  Donna  left  the  eating-house  for  her 
home,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  Hat  Ranch  must  be  situated 
at  least  ten  miles  further  from  San  Pasqual  than  it  had 
been  two  days  previous.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  would 
never  reach  the  gate  that  pierced  the  big  seven-foot  adobe 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  101 

wall  which  shut  Bob  McGraw  in  from  the  prying  eyes  of 
the  townspeople;  she  felt  that  her  heart,  over-burdened 
with  its  weight  of  agonized  happiness,  must  break  be 
fore  she  found  herself  once  more  standing  by  Bob's  bed, 
gazing  down  at  him  with  a  look  of  proprietorship  and 
love. 

As  she  stood  there,  smiling,  her  face  flushed  from  the 
exertion  of  her  rapid  walk,  her  jaunty  straw  hat  casting 
little  vagrant  shadows  across  her  great,  dark,  sparkling 
eyes,  he  awakened  and  looked  up.  She  was  drawing  off 
her  gloves,  and  one  who  has  ridden  in  the  waste  places 
as  much  as  had  Bob  McGraw  soon  learns  that  simple  signs 
are  sometimes  pregnant  of  big  things.  The  big  thing,  as 
Bob  read  it  then,  was  the  fact  that  she  had  just  come  home ; 
that  she  had  hurried,  for  she  was  breathing  hard.  "Why 
had  she  hurried  ?  Why,  to  see  him,  Bob  McGraw — and  in 
such  a  hurry  was  she  that  she  had  not  waited  to  remove 
her  hat  and  gloves.  This  was  all  very  gratifying ;  so  grati 
fying  that  Mr.  McGraw  would  almost,  at  that  moment,  have 
welcomed  a  .45  through  his  other  lung,  if  thereby  he  could 
only  make  her  understand  how  deeply  gratified  he  really 
was — how  dearly  he  loved  her  and  would  continue  to  love 
her.  He  was  so  filled  with  such  thoughts  as  these  that  he 
continued  to  gaze  at  her  in  silence  for  fully  a  minute  before 
he  spoke. 

"It's  been  a  long,  hot  day"  he  whispered.  "I  worried. 
Thought  you  might  be  kept — Ikte — again. ' ' 

The  adorable  old  muggins !  The  very  thought  of  having 
somebody  to  worry  over  her  was  so  very  new  to  Donna,  and 
so  very  sweet  withal,  that  she  called  Mr.  McGraw  an  ador 
able  old  muggins,  and  pinched  the  lobe  of  his  left  ear,  and 
tweaked  the  sunburned  apex  of  his  Irish  nose.  Then  she 
kissed  the  places  thus  pinched  and  tweaked,  and  declared 
that  she  was  happy  enough  to — to — to  swear! 

"I  understand — perfectly"  said  Bob  McGraw,  and  there 
is  no  doubt  that  he  did.  The  idea  of  a  glorious  young 
•Kroman  like  Donna  swearing  was,  indeed,  perfectly  ridicu- 


102  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

lous.  Of  course,  nerve-racked  tired  waitresses  and  be* 
deviled  chefs  "cussed  each  other  out"  as  a  regular  thing 
up  at  the  eating-house  during  a  rush,  and  Donna,  having 
listened  to  these  conversational  sparks,  off  and  on,  for  three 
years,  felt  now,  for  the  first  time,  as  she  imagined  they 
must  feel — that  the  unusual  commotion  in  one's  soul  occa 
sionally  demands  some  extraordinary  outlet. 

' '  I  could  beat  Soft  Wind  with  the  broom,  or  tip  over  the 
stove,  or  do  something  equally  desperate"  she  told  him. 
"I  feel  so  deeply — it  hurts  me — here,"  and  she  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  heart. 

"Think  of  me,"  he  whispered,  "hurt  on — both  sides. 
Bullet — hole  in — right  lung — key-hole  in — my  heart." 

The  blarney  of  the  wretch !  Really,  this  McGraw  mas 
was  the  most  forward  person !  As  if  he  could  ever,  by  any 
possibility,  love  her  as  she  loved  him ! 

"You  great  red  angel"  she  said.  Then  she  ruffled  hi* 
hair  and  fled  out  to  the  kitchen  to  investigate  the  exact 
nature  of  the  savory  concoction  which  the  nurse  was  pre 
paring  for  her  invalid.  No  royal  chef,  safe-guarding  the 
stomach  of  his  monarch  against  the  surreptitious  introduc 
tion  of  a  deadly  poison  in  the  soup,  could  have  evinced  a 
greater  interest  in  the  royal  appetite  than  did  Donna  in 
Bob  McGraw 's  that  night.  As  the  nurse  was  about  to  take 
the  bowl  of  broth  which  she  had  prepared,  in  to  her  patient, 
Donna  dipped  up  a  small  quantity  on  a  teaspoon  and 
tasted  it. 

"A  little  more  salt,  I  think"  she  announced,  with  all  the 
gravity  of  her  twenty  years. 

The  nurse  glanced  at  her  for  a  moment,  before  she  took 
her  glowing  face  between  her  cool  palms  and  kissed  the 
girl  on  each  cheek.  Then  she  reached  for  the  salt  cellar, 
dropped  a  small  pinch  into  the  soup,  seized  the  tray  and 
marched  out,  smiling.  She  was  one  of  the  women  on  this 
earth  who  can  understand  without  asking — at  least  Donna 
thought  so,  and  was  grateful  to  her  for  it. 

The  three  weeks  that  followed,  while  Bob  McGraw,  hav« 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  103 

fttg  battled  his  way  through  the  attack  of  traumatk  pneu 
monia  incident  to  the  wound  in  his  lungs,  slowly  got  back 
his  strength,  seemed,  indeed,  the  most  marvelous  period  of 
Donna  Corblay's  entire  existence.  On  the  morning  after 
her  conversation  with  Harley  P.,  Mrs.  Pennyeook,  true  to 
the  gambler's  prediction,  did  favor  the  Hat  Ranch  with  her 
bustling  presence,  and  wrapped  in  a  snow-white  napkin 
the  said  Mrs.  Pennycook  did  carry  the  hereinbefore  men 
tioned  glass  of  wine  jelly  for  the  debilitated  stranger  in 
their  midst.  Donna  was  at  the  eating-house  when  Mrs. 
Pennycook  called,  but  the  nurse  received  her — not,  how 
ever,  without  an  inward  chuckle  as  she  recalled  Mr.  Hen- 
nage's  warning  and  discovered  that  Mrs.  Pennycook 's 
mouth  did  really  resemble  a  new  buttonhole — as  the  mouth 
of  every  respectable,  self-righteous,  provincial  female  bigot 
has  had  a  habit  of  resembling  even  as  far  back  as  the  days 
of  the  Salem  witchcraft. 

For  her  wine  jelly,  Mrs.  Pennycook  received  due  and 
courteous  thanks  from  the  nurse  personally,  and  also  on 
behalf  of  Miss  Corblay  and  the  patient.  To  her  apparently 
irrelevant  and  impersonal  queries,  regarding  the  identity  of 
the  wounded  man,  his  personal  and  family  history,  Mrs. 
Pennycook  received  equally  irrelevant  and  impersonal  re 
plies,  and  when  she  suggested  at  length  that  she  would 
"dearly  love  to  see  him  for  a  moment — only  a  moment, 
mind  you — to  thank  him  for  what  he  had  done  for  that 
dear  sweet  girl,  Donna  Corblay,"  the  nurse  found  instant 
defense  from  the  invasions  by  reminding  Mrs.  Pennycook 
of  the  doctor's  orders  that  his  patient  be  permitted  to  re 
main  undisturbed. 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Pennycook,  accompanied  by  Miss 
Piekett,  called  again.  Miss  Pickett  carried  the  limp  carcass 
of  a  juvenile  chicken,  and  armed  with  this  passport  to  Bob 
McGraw's  heart  and  confidence,  she  too,  endeavored  to- 
run  the  guard.  Alas!  The  young  man  was  still  in  a  very; 
precarious  condition,  and  baffled  and  discouraged,  the  char 
itable  pair  departed  in  profound  disgust. 


io4  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

The  next  day  Dan  Penny  cook  called,  at  Mrs.  Pennycook's 
orders.  The  yardmaster,  as  he  bowed  to  the  nurse  and 
ventured  a  mild  inquiry  as  to  the  patient's  health,  presented 
a  remarkable  imitation  of  a  heretofore  conscientious  dog 
that  has  just  been  discovered  in  the  act  of  killing  a  sheep. 
Poor  Daniel  was  easy  prey  for  the  efficient  nurse.  He  re 
tired,  chop-fallen  and  ashamed,  and  the  day  following,  two 
conductor's  wives  and  the  sister  of  a  brakeman,  armed  re 
spectively  with  a  brace  of  quail,  a  bouquet  of  assorted  sweet 
peas  and  half  a  dozen  oranges,  came,  deposited  their  offer 
ings,  were  duly  thanked  and  dismissed. 

To  all  these  interested  ladies,  Donna,  at  the  suggestion 
of  Harley  P.  (who,  by  the  way,  fell  heir  to  the  brace  of 
quail,  which  he  had  prepared  by  the  eating-house  chef,  and 
later  consumed  with  great  gusto),  wrote  a  polite  note  of 
thanks.  This,  of  course  merely  served  to  irritate  an  al 
ready  irritated  community,  without  affording  them  an  op 
portunity  for  what  Mr.  Hennage  termed  "a  social  come 
back."  He  contracted  the  habit,  during  that  first  week, 
of  coming  in  to  his  dinner  earlier,  in  order  that  he  might 
hear  from  Donna  a  detailed  report  of  the  frantic  efforts  of 
her  neighbors  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  mystery.  Mr. 
Hennage  was  enjoying  himself  immensely. 

After  the  first  week  had  passed  without  developments, 
interest  in  Donna  and  her  affairs  began  to  dwindle,  for  not 
infrequently  matters  move  in  kaleidoscopic  fashion  in  San 
Pasqual,  and  the  population,  generally  speaking,  soon  finds 
itself  absorbed  in  other  and  more  important  matters.  Mrs. 
Pennycook  was  quick  to  note  that  Donna  (to  quote  Mr. 
\ Hennage)  was  "next  to  her  game,"  and  with  the  gambler's 
threat  hanging  over  her  she  wras  careful  to  refrain  from 
expressing  any  decided  opinions  in  the  little  circle  in  which 
she  moved. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  week  the  news  that  develop 
ment  work  was  projected  somewhere  near  the  town,  doubt 
less  by  some  syndicate  whose  operations  were  so  extensive 
that  the  work  would  likely  mean  a  construction  camp  coa< 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  105 

veniently  near,  swept  the  Bob  McGraw-Donna  Corblay 
episode  completely  aside.  Rumor,  fanned  by  the  eager 
desires  of  the  business  element  of  the  hamlet,  gained  head 
way,  despite  the  fact  that  false  rumor  was  all  too  frequent 
a  visitor  to  San  Pasqual,  until  not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
people  in  the  town  remembered  that  Donna  Corblay  had 
had  an  adventure,  the  details  of  which  they  had  failed  to 
unearth. 

During  those  three  weeks  of  convalescence,  Bob  Mc- 
Graw's  splendid  condition,  due  to  his  clean  and  hardy 
life  on  the  range  and  desert,  caused  him  to  rally  with  sur 
prising  rapidity  from  his  dangerous  wound.  At  the  end 
of  ten  days  he  was  permitted  to  sit  up  in  bed  and  talk 
freely,  and  a  few  days  later  with  the  assistance  of  the 
nurse  and  Sam  Singer  he  was  lifted  into  a  chair  and  spent 
a  glorious  day  sitting  in  the  sun  in  the  wind-protected 
patio.  The  slight  cough  which  had  troubled  him  at  first 
commenced  to  disappear,  proving  that  the  wound  was 
healing  from  within,  and  the  doctor  announced  that  at  the 
end  of  a  month  Bob  would  be  able  to  leave  the  house. 

As  the  reader  may  have  had  cause  to  suspect  earlier  in 
this  recital,  Bob  McGraw  was  not  the  young  man  to  permit 
the  grass  to  sprout  under  his  feet  in  the  matter  of  a  court 
ship.  The  brief  period  each  evening  which  he  and  Donna 
spent  together  served  to  convince  each  that  life  without 
the  other  would  not  be  worth  the  living.  Their  wooing 
was  dignified  and  purposeful ;  their  love  was  too  pure  and 
deep  to  be  taken  lightly  or  tinged  with  the  frivolity  that 
too  often  accompanies  an  ardent  love  affair  between  two 
young  people  who  have  not  learned,  as  had  Bob  and  Donna, 
to  view  life  seriously.  Both  were  graduates  of  the  hard 
school  of  practicalities,  and  early  in  life  each  had  learned 
the  value  of  self-reliance  and  the  wisdom  of  thinking 
clearly  and  without  self-illusion. 

The  last  week  of  Bob's  stay  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  under  the 
chaperonage  of  the  nurse,  was  not  spent  in  planning  for  the 
future,  for  the  lovers  did  not  look  beyond  the  reality  of 


106  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

their  new-found  happiness.  True,  Bob  had  tried  it  once 
or  twice,  during  the  long  hot  days  in  the  patio  while  wait 
ing  for  Donna  to  return  from  her  work,  but  the  knowledge 
of  his  inability  to  support  a  wife,  the  present  desperate 
condition  of  his  finances  and  the  unsettled  state  of  his  future 
plans,  promptly  saturated  his  soul  in  a  melancholy  which 
only  the  arrival  of  Donna  could  dissipate.  As  for  Donna, 
like  most  women,  she  was  content  to  linger  in  that  delight 
ful  state  of  bliss  which  precedes  marriage.  Never  having 
known  real  happiness  before,  she  was,  for  the  present  at 
least,  incapable  of  imagining  a  more  profound  joy  than 
walking  arm  in  arm  in  the  moonlit  patio  with  the  man  she 
loved.  Without  the  adobe  walls,  the  zephyr  lashed  th< 
eage  and  whirled  the  sand  with  fiendish  disregard  of  human 
happiness,  but  within  the  Hat  Ranch  enclosure  Donna  Cor- 
blay  knew  that  she  had  found  a  paradise,  and  she  was 
eontent. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DONNA'S  mail-order  library  proved  a  great  source 
of  comfort  to  Bob  during  the  lonely  days  at  the 
Hat  Ranch.  At  night  she  sang  to  him,  or  sat  con 
tentedly  at  his  side  while  he  told  her  whimsical  tales  of 
his  wanderings.  He  was  an  easy,  natural  conversationalist, 
the  kind  of  a  man  who  "listens"  well — an  optimist,  a 
dreamer.  He  was,  seemingly,  possessed  of  a  fund  of  un 
failing  good-nature,  and  despite  the  fact  that  the  past 
seven  years  of  his  life  had  been  spent  far  from  that  civiliza 
tion  in  which  he  had  grown  to  manhood,  in  unconventional, 
occasionally  sordid  surroundings,  he  had  lost  none  of  an 
innate  gentleness  with  women,  that  delicate  attention  to  the 
little,  thoughtful,  chivalrous  things  which,  to  discerning 
women,  are  the  chief  charm  in  a  man.  And  withal  he  was 
a  droll  rascal,  a  rollicking,  careless  fellow  who  quickly  dis 
covered  that,  next  to  telling  her  that  he  loved  her  and  would 
continue  to  love  her  forever  and  ever,  it  pleased  Donna 
most  to  have  him  tell  her  about  himself,  to  listen  to  his 
Munchausenian  tales  of  travel  and  adventure.  Did  he 
speak  of  cities  with  their  cafes,  parks,  theaters  and  mu 
seums,  she  was  interested,  but  when  he  told  her  of  the 
country  that  lay  just  beyond  the  ranges,  east  and  west, 
or  described  the  long  valley  to  the  north,  rolling  gradually 
up  to  the  high  Sierra,  with  their  castellated  spires,  sparkling 
and  snow-encrusted;  of  little  mountain  lakes,  mirroring 
the  firs  of  the  heights  above  them,  of  meadows  and  running 
•water  and  birds  and  blossoms,  he  could  almost  see  the  desert 
sadness  die  out  in  her  eyes,  as  she  trailed  him  in  spirit 
through  this  marvelous  land  of  her  heart's  desire. 

"When  we're  married,  Donna,"  he  told  her,  when  there 
came  to  him  for  the  first  time  a  realization  of  th«  hunger 

107 


io8  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

in  the  girl's  heart  for  a  change  from  the  drab,  lifeless, 
unchanging  vistas  of  the  open  desert,  "we'll  take  horses 
and  pack-animals  and  go  up  into  that  wonderful  country  on 
our  honeymoon." 

She  turned  to  him  with  glistening  eyes,  seized  his  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  her  cheek. 

"How  soon?"  she  murmured. 

He  was  silent,  wishing  he  had  not  spoken.  He  was  a 
little  subdued  as  he  answered. 

"As  soon  as  my  ship  comes  in,  Donna.  Just  at  present 
it  seems  quite  a  long  way  off,  although  if  nothing  happens 
to  upset  a  little  scheme  of  mine,  it  will  not  be  more  than  a 
year.  Things  are  very  uncertain  right  now."  He  smiled 
sheepishly  as  he  thought  of  his  profitless  wanderings. 
"You  know,  Donna,  I've  been  a  rolling  stone,  and  I  haven't 
gathered  very  much  moss." 

"We  can  wait.  I  haven't  thought  much  about  the  fu 
ture,  either,  Bob.  I'm  just  content  to  know  I've  got  you, 
and  the  problem  of  keeping  you  hasn't  presented  itself  as 
yet." 

They  were  silent,  listening  to  the  zephyr  whistling  around 
the  Hat  Ranch. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  told  him  presently,  "I  haven't 
stopped  to  gather  up  the  hats  since  the  night  you  came. 
Bob,  dear,  I'm  afraid  you're  ruining  my  business." 

He  stared  at  her  amazed.  "I  don't  understand"  he 
said. 

' '  I  don 't  gather  moss, ' '  she  taunted  him ;  ' '  my  specialty 
is  hats,"  and  then  she  explained  for  the  first  time  the 
peculiar  side-line  in  which  she  was  engaged.  It  was  their 
first  discussion  of  any  subject  dealing  with  the  practical 
side  of  her  life,  and  Bob  was  keenly  interested.  He  laughed 
as  Donna  related  some  homely  little  anecdote  of  the  hat 
trade,  and  later,  after  plying  her  with  questions  regarding 
her  life,  past  and  present,  the  mood  for  a  mutual  exchange 
of  confidences  seized  him  and  he  told  her  something  of  his 
own  checkered  career. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  109 

Bob  McGraw's  father  had  been  a  mining  engineer  who 
had  never  accomplished  anything  more  remarkable  than 
proving  himself  a  failure  in  his  profession.  He  was  of  a 
roving,  adventurous  disposition,  the  kind  of  a  man  to  whom 
the  fields  just  ahead  always  look  greenest,  and  as  a  result 
his  life  had  been  a  remarkable  series  of  ups  and  downs — 
mostly  downs.  Bob's  mother  had  been  an  artist  of  more  or 
less  ability — probably  less — who,  having  met  and  fallen  in 
love  with  McGraw  senior  in  New  York  during  one  of  his 
prosperous  periods,  had  continued  to  love  him  when  the 
fortune  vanished.  Bob  had  been  born  in  a  mining  camp 
in  Tuolumne  county.  He  had  never  seen  his  mother.  She 
died  bringing  him  into  the  world.  His  father  had  drifted 
from  camp  to  camp,  each  successive  camp  being  a  little 
lonelier,  less  lively  and  less  profitable  than  its  predecessor. 
He  had  managed  to  keep  his  son  by  him  until  Bob  was 
about  ten  years  old,  when  he  sent  him  to  a  military  acad 
emy  in  southern  California.  At  eighteen,  Bob  had  gradu« 
ated  from  the  academy,  and  at  his  father's  desire  he  en 
tered  the  state  university  to  study  law. 

Long  before  he  had  waded  half-way  through  the  first 
book  of  Blaekstone,  Bob  had  become  fully  convinced  that 
he  was  his  father 's  son,  and  that  mining  engineering  would 
be  vastly  more  to  his  liking.  It  was  a  profession,  however, 
upon  which  his  father  frowned.  Like  most  men  who  have 
made  a  failure  of  their  vocation,  he  dreaded  to  see  his  son 
follow  in  his  father's  footsteps.  He  was  insistent  upon 
Bob  following  the  law;  so  to  please  him  young  Bob  had 
managed  to  struggle  through  the  course  and  by  dint  of 
much  groaning  and  burning  of  midnight  oil,  eventually  he 
was  admitted  to  practice  before  the  Superior  Court.  Un 
known  to  his  father,  however,  he  had  been  attending  the 
courses  in  geology  and  mining  engineering,  in  which  he 
had  made  really  creditable  progress.  He  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  pass  his  law  examinations,  however,  whereupon 
his  father  declared  that  he  must  make  his  own  way  in  the 
world  thereafter.  He  secured  for  his  son  a  position  in 


i  io  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

the  office  of  an  old  friend,  a  corporation  lawyer  named 
Henry  Dunstan,  where  Bob  while  not  actively  engaged  upon 
some  minor  detail  of  Dunstan 's  large  practice  had  the 
privilege  of  going  down  into  the  police  courts  for  a  little 
practical  experience  in  the  gentle  art  of  pleading. 

A  month  later,  McGraw,  pere,  while  ascending  the  shaft 
of  the  mine  where  he  was  employed  as  superintendent,  was 
met  by  an  ore  bucket  coming  down.  Bob  closed  his  office, 
went  up  country  to  the  mine  and  saw  to  it  that  his  father 
was  decently  buried.  Fortunately  there  was  sufficient 
money  on  hand  to  do  this,  Bob 's  parent  having  received  his 
pay  check  only  the  day  before. 

There  had  been  no  estate  for  Bob  to  probate,  and  his  few 
briefless  weeks  scouting  around  the  police  courts  and  acting 
as  a  messenger  boy  for  Henry  Dunstan  had  given  him  a 
thorough  disgust  for  the  profession  of  the  law.  He  left 
his  position  with  Dunstan  and  went  to  work  on  a  morning 
paper  at  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  At  the  end  of  two  months 
he  was  getting  twenty — also  he  was  very  shabby  and  in 
debt.  It  was  his  ambition  to  gather  together  sufficient 
money  to  enable  him  to  complete  his  mining  course  and 
secure  his  degree. 

He  hated  the  city ;  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  battle  and 
grub  with  his  fellows  for  a  few  paltry  dollars,  and  the  call 
of  his  father's  blood  was  strong  in  his  veins.  Bob  was  the 
kind  of  fellow  who  likes  to  make  a  heap  of  his  winnings, 
when  he  has  any,  and  stake  it  all  on  the  turning  of  a  card ; 
if  this  metaphor  may  be  employed  to  designate  Bob  Mc 
Graw 's  nature  without  creating  the  impression  that  he  had 
inherited  a  penchant  for  the  gaming  table.  It  had  been 
born  in  him  to  take  a  chance.  And  the  gold  fever,  inherited 
from  his  father,  still  burned  in  his  blood.  He  drifted  to 
Nevada,  where  he  did  a  number  of  things — including  the 
assault  on  Mr.  Hennage's  faro  bank,  which,  as  we  have 
already  been  informed,  also  resulted  disastrously. 

These  adventures  occupied  the  first  two  years  of  Bob 
McGraw 's  wanderings.  For  the  next  eighteen  months  he 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  in 

worked  in  various  mines  in  various  capacities,  picking  up, 
in  actual  experience,  much  of  the  mining  wisdom  which 
circumstances  had  denied  that  he  should  acquire  in  college. 
His  Nevada  experiences  had  given  him  a  taste  of  the  desert 
and  he  liked  it.  There  was  a  broad  strain  of  poetry  in  his 
make-up,  inherited  perhaps  from  his  mother,  and  the  desert 
.appealed  to  that  mystical  sixth  sense  in  him,  arousing  his 
Imagination,  taunting  him  with  a  desire  that  was  almost 
pre-natal  to  investigate  the  formation  on  the  other  side  of 
the  sky-line.  It  pandered  to  the  spirit  of  adventure  in 
him,  the  purple  distances  lured  him  with  promise  of  rich 
reward,  and  the  day  he  made  the  remarkable  discovery  that 
he  had  saved  enough  money  to  purchase  two  burros,  an 
automatic  pistol,  a  box  of  dynamite  and  the  usual  pros 
pector's  outfit,  he  took  the  trail  through  Windy  Gap  and 
Hell's  Bend  into  Death  Valley. 

Here  Bob  McGraw  learned  the  true  inwardness  of  a 
poem  which  he  had  once  recited  as  a  boy  at  school.  "Afar 
In  the  Desert  I  Love  to  Ride."  Only  Bob  walked.  And 
after  walking  several  hundred  miles  he  found  nothing. 
But  he  had  seen  lots  of  country,  and  the  silence  pleased 
him.  Also  he  had  met  and  talked  with  other  desert  wan 
derers,  with  whom  he  had  shared  his  water  and  his  grub, 
and  in  return  they  had  infected  him  still  further  with  the 
microbe  of  unrest.  He  heard  tales  of  lost  mines,  of  mar 
velous  strikes,  of  fortunes  made  in  a  day,  and  that  imagi 
native  streak  in  him,  inherited  from  his  mother,  fused  with 
the  wanderlust  of  his  father,  combined  to  make  of  him  a 
Desert  Rat  at  twenty-three. 

He  came  out  of  the  desert,  on  that  first  trip,  at  Coso 
Springs,  and  doubled  north  along  the  western  edge  of  the 
White  mountains  up  through  Inyo  county  picking,  pros 
pecting,  starving,  thirsting  cheerfully  as  he  went.  At  the 
town  of  Bishop,  his  stomach  warned  him  that  it  would  be  a 
wise  move  to  sell  his  outfit  and  seek  a  job ;  which  he  accord 
ingly  did.  He  found  employment  with  a  cattle  company 
aud  went  up  to  Long  valley  in  Mono  county.  Here  he  was 


ii2  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

almost  happy.  Life  on  a  cow  range  suited  him  very  well 
indeed,  for  it  took  him  away  from  civilization  and  carried 
him  through  a  mineral  country.  He  rode  with  a  pros 
pector's  pick  on  his  saddle,  and  in  addition  the  scenery  just 
suited  him.  There  was  just  enough  of  desert  and  bare 
volcanic  hills,  valley  and  meadow  and  snow-capped  peaks 
to  please  the  dreamer  and  lover  of  nature ;  there  was  always 
the  chance  that  a  ' '  cow, ' '  scrambling  down  a  hillside,  would 
unearth  for  him  a  fortune. 

Thus  a  few  more  years  had  slipped  by.  In  the  summer 
and  fall  Bob  McGraw  rode  range.  In  the  winter  he  quit 
his  job,  invested  his  savings  in  two  burros  and  a  pros 
pector's  outfit  and  roved  until  summer  came  again  and  the 
heat  drove  him  back  to  the  range  once  more.  He  was  very 
happy,  for  the  future  was  always  rose-tinted  and  he  had 
definitely  located  two  lost  mines.  That  is  to  say,  he  could 
say  almost  for  a  certainty  that  they  lay  within  five  miles 
of  certain  points.  Somehow,  his  water  had  a  habit  of  al 
ways  giving  out  just  when  he  got  to  those  certain  points, 
and  when  he  had  gone  back  after  more  water  something 
had  happened — a  new  strike  here,  a  reported  rush  else 
where,  to  lure  him  on  until  he  was  once  more  forced  to 
abandon  the  trail  and  return  to  work  for  his  grubstake  in 
the  fall. 

This  was  the  man  who  had  ridden  into  San  Pasqual  and 
got  as  far  as  the  Hat  Ranch ;  when  as  usual,  something  had 
happened. 

He  told  Donna  his  story  simply,  with  boyish  frankness, 
interlarding  the  narrative  with  humorous  little  anecdotes 
that  robbed  the  tale  of  the  stigma  of  failure  and  clothed 
it  in  the  charm  of  achievement.  She  laughed  in  perfect 
understanding  when  he  described  how  some  desert  wag  had 
placed  a  sign  beside  the  trail  at  Hell's  Bend  at  the  entrance 
to  Death  Valley.  "Who  enters  here  leaves  hope  behind." 

"I  saw  that  sign  when  I  came  by,  Donna,"  he  told  her, 
"and  I  didn't  like  it.  It  sounded  too  blamed  pessimistic 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  113 

for  me,  so  when  I  broke  camp  next  morning  I  changed  the 
sign  to  read  '  Soap '  instead  of  '  Hope. '  ' 

Donna's  laughter  awoke  the  echoes  in  the  silent  patio, 
and  Bob  McGraw,  certain  of  his  audience,  rambled  on.  Ah, 
what  a  dreamer,  what  a  lovable,  careless,  lazy  optimist  he 
was!  And  how  Donna's  whole  nature  went  out  in  sympa 
thy  with  his!  She  knew  so  well  what  drove  him  on;  she 
envied  him  the  prerogative  of  sex  which  denied  to  her 
these  joyous,  endless  wanderings. 

"I  love  it"  he  told  her  presently.  "I  can't  help  it. 
It  appeals  to  something  in  me,  just  like  drink  appeals  to  a 
drunkard.  I'm  never  so  happy  as  when  gophering  around 
in  a  barren  prospect  hole  or  coyoting  on  some  rocky  hill 
side.  But  it's  only  another  form  of  the  gambling  fever,  and 
I  realize  that  whether  my  present  plans  mature  or  not  I  've 
got  to  give  it  up.  It  was  all  right  a  few  years  ago,  but  now 
the  idea  of  wandering  all  my  life  over  the  mountains  and 
desert,  and  in  the  end  dying  under  a  bush,  like  a  jack-rab 
bit — no,  I've  got  to  give  it  up  and  follow  something  defi 
nite." 

Again  she  patted  his  hand.  She  knew  the  resolution  cosi 
him  a  pang;  it  pleased  her  to  learn  that  he  had  made  it 
because  he  realized  that  he  owed  something  to  himself;  not 
because  of  the  fact  of  his  love  for  her. 

"It  won't  take  you  long,  once  you  have  made  up  your 
mind"  she  encouraged  him. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  rich"  he  explained.  "When  I 
started  out,  Donna,  I  had  that  idea.  I  wanted  money — 
in  great  big  gobs,  so  I  could  throw  it  around  with  both 
hands  and  enjoy  myself.  I  used  to  think  a  good  deal  about 
myself  in  those  days,  but  five  years  in  the  desert  and  riding 
the  range  changes  one.  It  takes  the  little,  selfish  foolish 
notions  out  of  one's  head  and  substitutes  something  bigger 
and  nobler  and — and — well,  I  can't  exactly  explain,  dear, 
but  I  know  a  little  verse  that  covers  the  subject  very  thor- 
caghly : 


ii4  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

The  little  cares  that  fretted  me, 

I  lost  them  yesterday 
Among  the  fields  above  the  sea, 

Among  the   winds   at   play, 
Among  the  lowing  of  the  herds, 

The  rustling  of  the  trees, 
Among  the  singing  of  the  birds, 

The  humming  of  the  bees; 
The  foolish  fears  of  what  might  happen, 

I  cast  them  all  away 
Among  the  clover-scented  grass, 

Among   the   new-mown   hay, 
Among  the  hushing  of  the  corn 

Where  drowsy  poppies  nod, 
Where  ill  thoughts  die  and  good  ar«  born. 

Out  in  the  fields  with  God. 

The  hint  of  the  desert  sadness  died  out  in  the  girl's  eyet» 
as  he  declaimed  his  gospel. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  softly,  "that's  beautiful— beautiful. " 

"That's  the  Litany  of  a  Pagan,  Donna"  he  answered. 
"One  has  to  believe  to  understand  when  he  goes  to  church 
in  a  city,  but  if  you're  a  Pagan  like  me,  you  only  have  to 
understand  in  order  to  believe. ' ' 

"I  am,"  she  interrupted  passionately,  "I'm  a  Pagan  andi 
the  daughter  of  a  Pagan.  My  father  was  a  Sun  "Wor 
shiper — like  you." 

' '  Tell  me  about  yourself  and  your  people, ' '  he  said,  and 
Donna  told  him  the  story  with  which  the  reader  is  already 
familiar.  He  questioned  her  carefully  about  Sam  Singer 
and  the  man  who  had  murdered  lier  father  and  despoiled 
him  of  his  fortune. 

"Who  was  this  tenderfoot  person?"  he  asked.  "Didn't 
Sam  Singer  know  his  name  ? ' ' 

"No.  We  never  knew  the  man's  name.  When  my 
father  left  for  the  desert  he  merely  told  mother  that  he 
was  going  to  meet  an  Eastern  capitalist  at  Salton.  Sam 
says  the  only  name  my  father  called  the  man  was  Boston," 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  115 

"Boston?" 

Donna  nodded. 

"That  means  he  hailed  from  Boston,  and  your  father 
called  him  that  in  sheer  contempt.  No  wonder  they 
fought." 

He  was  silent,  thinking  over  that  strange  tale  of  a  lost 
mine  which  Sam  Singer  had  told  Donna's  mother. 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  keep  on  desert  ratting  until 
somebody  cracks  me  on  the  head  and  stows  me  on  the 
shelf"  he  said  presently. 

He  waved  his  arm  toward  the  north.  "Away  up  there, 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  I've  cast  my  fortune — in  the 
desert  of  Owens  river  valley.  I've  cut  out  for  myself  a 
job  that  will  last  me  all  my  life,  and  win  or  lose,  I'll  fight 
the  fight  to  a  finish.  I'm  going  to  make  thirty-two  thou 
sand  acres  of  barren  waste  bloom  and  furnish  clean,  un 
sullied  wealth  for  a  few  thousand  poor,  crushed  devils  that 
have  been  slaughtered  and  maimed  under  the  Juggernaut 
of  our  Christian  civilization.  I'm  going  to  plant  them  on 
ten-acre  farms  up  there  under  the  shadow  of  old  Mt.  Kear- 
sarge,  and  convert  them  into  Pagans.  I'm  going  to  create 
an  Eden  out  of  an  abandoned  Hell.  I'm  going  to  lay  out 
a  townsite  and  men  will  build  me  a  town,  so  I  can  light  it 
with  my  own  electricity.  It's  a  big  Utopian  dream,  Donna 
dear,  but  what  a  crowning  glory  to  the  dreamer's  life  if  it 
only  comes  true !  Just  think,  Donna.  A  few  thousand  of 
the  poor  and  lowly  and  hopeless  brought  out  of  the  cities 
and  given  land  and  a  chance  for  life,  liberty  and  the  pur 
suit  of  happiness;  to  know  that  their  toil  will  bring  them 
some  return,  that  they  can  have  a  home  and  a  hope  for  the 
future.  That's  what  I  want  to  do,  and  when  that  job  is 
accomplished  I  will  have  lived  my  life  and  enjoyed  it ;  when 
I  pass  away,  I  want  them  to  bury  me  in  Donna ville — that's 
to  be  the  name  of  my  colony — and  for  an  epitaph  I'd  like 
Eobert  Louis  Stevenson's  "Requiem": 

Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky 
Dig  the  grave  and  let  me  lie, 


n6  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Glad  did  I  live  and  gladly  die 
And  I  laid  me  down  with  a  will. 

This  be  the  verse  you  grave  for  me: 
Here  he  lies  where  he  longed  to  be; 
Home  is  the  sailor,  home  from  the  sea, 
And  the  hunter  home  from  the  hill. 

He  paused,  a  little  flushed  and  exalted.  Never  before 
had  Bob  McGraw  unburdened  his  heart  of  its  innermost 
secrets,  its  %opes,  its  fears,  its  aspirations ;  for  a  moment 
now  he  almost  quivered  at  the  thought  that  Donna  would 
look  upon  him  as  a  dreamer,  an  idealist — perhaps  a  fool — 
he,  a  penniless  desert  wanderer  assuming  to  hold  in  his 
sunburnt  palm  the  destinies  of  the  under  dogs  of  civiliza 
tion — the  cripples  too  weak  and  hopeless  to  be  anything 
more  than  wretched  camp-followers  in  the  Army  of 
Labor. 

He  glanced  down  at  her  now,  half  expecting,  dreading 
to  meet,  the  look  of  gentle  indulgence  so  common  to  the 
Unbeliever.  But  there  was  no  patronizing  smile,  no  toler 
ant  note  in  her  voice  as  she  asked  simply : 

"And  this  great,  beautiful  Utopia  of  yours,  Bob — what 
did  you  call  it?" 

"It  doesn't  exist  yet,"  he  explained  hastily,  "but  it — it 
may.  And  when  it  does  become  a  reality,  I'm  going  to  call 
it  Donnaville." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  sounds  so  much  better  than  Bobville  or 
Robertstown,  and  because  it  will  be  beautiful.  It  will  be 
the  green  fields  of  God  after  centuries  upon  centuries  of 
purgatory ;  because  it  will  be  the  land  I  've  been  telling  you 
about,  where  you'll  find  all  the  things  your  soul  is  hungry 
for;  where  we  will  own  a  big  farm,  you  and  I,  with  great 
fields  of  alfalfa  with  purple  blossoms ;  and  there  11  be  long 
rows  of  apple  and  pear  trees  and  corn  and — don't  you  un* 
derstand,  dear?  It  will  be  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the 
desert  And  yet,"  he  added  a  little  sadly,  "I  may  be 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  n7 

"beaten  into  the  earth  and  all  my  life  Donnaville  will  remain 
nothing  but  a  dream,  a  desire,  and  so  I — I — " 

"Nobody  can  despoil  you  of  your  dreams,"  she  inter 
rupted,  "and  hence  you'll  never  be  beaten,  Bob.  The 
dreamers  do  the  world's  work.  But  tell  me.  How  do 
you  propose  to  establish  Donnaville?  Tell  me  all  about  it, 
dear.  I  want  to — help." 

He  gave  her  a  grateful  glance.  "I  guess  I  must  be 
wound  up  to-night,"  he  began,  "but  it  is  good  to  talk  it 
over  after  hugging  it  to  myself  so  many  years,  and  suffering 
and  striving  as  I  have  suffered  and  striven  since  I  came  into 
this  country. 

""When  I  pulled  out  of  Death  Valley  on  my  first  trip  I 
came  into  Inyo  from  the  south  and  worked  up  along  the 
base  of  the  White  mountains  as  far  as  Bishop.  The  Owens 
river  valley  runs  north  and  south,  with  the  White  moun 
tains  flanking  it  on  the  east  and  the  high  Sierra  on  the 
west.  It  is  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles  wide,  that  valley,  with 
the  Owens  river  running  down  the  eastern  side  most  of  the 
way  until  it  empties  into  Owens  lake  just  above  Keeler. 
•lhe  lake  is  salty,  bitter,  filled  with  alkali,  borax  and  soda, 
and  for  nearly  forty  miles  above  its  mouth  the  river  itself 
is  pretty  brackish  and  alkaline.  Away  up  the  valley  the 
river  water  is  sweet  but  as  it  approaches  the  lake  it  gathers 
alkali  and  borax  from  the  formation  through  which  it 
flows.  This  renders  it  unfit  for  irrigating  purposes  and  at 
first  glance  the  lower  end  of  the  valley  seemed  doomed  to 
remain  undeveloped  unless  somebody  led  pure  water  from 
above  down  the  valley  in  a  big  cement-lined  canal  and  the 
cost  of  such  a  canal  would  thus  render  the  project  prohibi 
tive,  unless  the  water  company  which  might  tackle  the  job 
also  owned  the  land. 

"The  valley  is  pure  desert,  although  there  are  a  great 
many  brilliant  green  streaks  in  it,  where  streams  of  melted 
snow  water  flow  down  from  the  mountains  and  either  disap 
pear  in  the  sands  or  just  manage  to  reach  the  river  or  the 
Jake.  The  valley  looks  harsh  and  desolate,  but  once  you 


Ii8  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

climb  the  mountains  and  look  down  into  it,  it's  beautiful. 
I  know  it  looked  beautiful  to  me  and  I  wished  that  I  might 
have  a  farm  there  and  settle  down.  For  the  next  few  years, 
every  time  I  drifted  up  or  down  that  valley  I  used  to 
dream  about  my  farm,  and  finally  I  picked  out  a  bully 
stretch,  of  desert  below  Independence,  and  made  up  my 
mind  to  file  a  desert  claim  of  three  hundred  and  twenty 
acres,  provided  I  could  see  my  way  clear  to  a  water-right 
that  would  insure  sufficient  water  for  irrigation. 

"There  wasn't  any  alkali  in  the  land  that  I  imagined 
would  be  my  farm  some  day — when  I  found  the  wateu 
Of  course  I  didn't  want  the  river  water  at  this  point,  on 
account  of  the  alkali  in  it,  and  from  the  formation  I  judged 
that  I  wouldn't  have  much  success  putting  in  artesian 
wells.  Besides,  I  didn't  care  to  be  a  lone  rancher  out  in 
that  desert.  I've  always  been  a  sociable  chap,  when  I 
could  meet  the  right  kind  of  people,  and  unless  I  could 
have  neighbors  on  that  desert  I  didn't  want  any  farm. 

' '  I  scouted  for  the  water  all  one  summer,  but  didn  't  find 
any.  However,  just  at  a  time  when  I  was  getting  ready 
to  come  out  of  the  mountains  and  hustle  for  next  year's 
grubstake,  I  found  a  'freeze-out'  in  the  granite  up  on  the 
slope  of  old  Kearsarge,  and  it  netted  me  nineteen  hundred 
dollars. 

"That  water  question  always  bothered  me.  I  knew  the 
land  was  rich — a  pure  marie,  with  lots  of  volcanic  ash 
mixed  with  it,  and  that  it  would  grow  anything — with 
water.  You  ought  to  see  that  land,  Donna.  Why,  the 
sage  grows  six  feet  tall  in  spots,  and  any  desert  land  that 
will  grow  big  sage  will  produce  more  fortunes  than  most 
gold  mines — if  you  can  only  get  the  water.  There  the  land 
lay,  thousands  of  acres  of  it,  but  good  water  wasn't  avail 
able,  so  the  land  was  worthless. 

"However,  Donna,  I  had  wandered  around  in  the  desert 
long  enough  to  observe  that  wherever  Nature  appears  to 
have  created  a  paradox,  there's  always  a  reason.  If  Nature 
makes  a  mistake  here,  she  places  a  compensating  offset  over 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  119 

tliere.  Here  was  a  valley  that  with  irrigation  could  be 
made  marvelously  fertile  at  this  point,  only  the  river  had 
to  go  brackish  and  alkaline  just  where  it  was  needed  most. 
I  couldn't  develop  an  irrigation  system  from  any  of  the 
little  streams  that  flowed  down  the  Sierra,  because  there 
wasn't  enough  water,  and  there  was  no  place  to  impound 
it,  even  if  there  had  been  sufficient  water. 

"While  I  was  pondering  this  peculiar  situation,  a  very 
strange  thing  occurred.  The  lower  portion  of  the  valley, 
including  the  stretch  of  desert  on  which  I  had  my  eye, 
was  suddenly  withdrawn  from  entry  and  thrown  into  a 
Forest  Reserve  by  the  Department  of  the  Interior.  It  was 
a  queer  proceeding  that — including  a  desert  timbered  with 
3age-brush  and  grease  wood  in  a  Forest  Reserve!  With 
drawing  from  entry  lands  that  would  not  even  remotely 
interest  settlers! 

' '  I  thought  this  over  a  great  deal,  and  by  and  by  I  began, 
to  see  the  light.  I  had  suspected  from  observation  and 
personal  experience  that  there  was  a  powerful  private  in 
fluence  at  work  in  the  state  land  office,  and  by  reason  of 
their  seeming  control  of  the  office  were  engaged  in  looting- 
the  state  of  its  school  lands  which  were  timbered.  In  the 
congressional  investigation  into  certain  land  frauds  in 
California,  it  was  discovered  that  the  men  accused  of  the 
frauds  had  been  aided  by  corrupt  minor  officials  in  the 
General  Land  Office — clerks  and  chiefs  of  certain  bureaus, 
fwhom  the  land-grabbers  kept  on  their  private  pay-rolls. 
This  was  a  matter  of  public  record.  Fortunately  for  the 
government,  however,  it  has  generally  managed  to  secure 
for  the  head  of  the  Land  Department  able  and  incorruptible 
men  to  whom  no  taint  of  suspicion  attached — men  whom 
the  land-grabbers  dare  not  attempt  to  corrupt. 

"At  the  outset,  I  strongly  suspected  that  the  corrupt 
influence,  which  presumably  had  been  exposed  and  pun 
ished  in  former  investigations,  was  nevertheless  still  at 
work.  The  suspicion  that  grossly  erroneous  reports,  inten 
tionally  furnished  the  General  Land  Office  by  officials  of 


120  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

the  Forestry  Department  in  California,  was  responsible 
for  the  inclusion  of  the  desert  in  the  Forest  Reserve, 
strengthened  into  belief  the  more  I  thought  it  over.  I 
thought  I  could  detect  in  this  hoodwinking  of  the  Depart 
ment  of  the  Interior,  through  the  agency  of  some  local 
official,  who  had  been  'reached'  by  the  land  ring,  the  first 
move  in  a  well-planned  raid  on  the  public  domain,  through- 
the  state  land  office. 

' '  I  quietly  investigated  the  surveyor-general  of  the  state, 
who  is  also  ex-officio  Registrar  of  the  State  Land  Office. 
I  discovered  that  he  was  a  man  of  unimpeachable  public 
and  private  life.  I  discovered  also  that  he  was  in  ill  health,, 
and  had  been  during  the  greater  portion  of  his  tenure  in 
office;  that  he  rarely  spent  more  than  two  hours  each  day 
in  his  office;  that  frequently  he  was  away  from  his  office 
for  a  month  at  a  time,  ill,  and  that  the  office  practically 
was  dominated  by  his  deputy.  The  surveyor-general  was 
a  quiet,  easy-going  man,  advanced  in  years  and  inclined 
to  take  things  easy,  and  the  upshot  of  my  investigations 
confirmed  me  in  the  belief  that  he  was  taking  things  easy — - 
too  easy — and  that  his  wide-awake  deputy  was  doing  busi 
ness  with  the  land  ring,  by  virtue  of  his  unhampered  con 
trol  of  the  office  and  the  implicit  confidence  reposed  in  him 
by  the  surveyor-general. 

"There  could  be  but  two  reasons  for  this  ridiculous 
action  by  the  Department  of  the  Interior  in  thus  including 
a  desert  in  a  Forest  Reserve.  Either  an  error  had  beep 
made  by  the  local  forestry  officials  in  defining  the  bound 
aries  of  the  reserve,  and  thus  reporting  to  the  General 
Land  Office,  or  the  job  was  intentional.  If  the  former, 
the  error  would  be  discovered  and  the  boundaries  rectified. 

"Well,  a  year  passed  and  the  boundaries  were  not  recti 
fied,  despite  the  fact  that  I  wrote  half  a  dozen  complaining 
letters  to  the  General  Land  Office.  The  answer  was  easy. 
The  land-grabbers  had  subsidized  somebody  and  my  letters 
never  got  to  headquarters.  So  I  knew  a  big  job  was  about 
to  be  pulled  off.  I  guessed  that  the  land-grabbers  had 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  121 

solved  the  water  problem  further  up  the  valley  and  were 
scheming  to  get  control  of  ths  lower  valley  and  lead  the 
water  to  it,  and  while  developing  their  water  supply  they 
wanted  the  land  denied  to  the  public.  There  was  always 
the  chance  that  some  smart  nester  would  come,  file  on  a 
half-section  and  start  boring  artesian  wells.  If  he  struck 
water,  the  news  would  travel  and  other  settlers  would  come 
in  and  take  a  chance,  and  before  long  there  might  be  a 
hundred  settlers  in  there.  There  would  be  no  reason  to 
fear  that  they  would  stay  forever,  unless  they  got  a  big 
artesian  flow  on  every  forty  acres,  and  knew  they  could 
get  water  in  sufficient  quantity.  But  they  would  havo 
found  water  and  it  would  have  taken  say  three  years  fop 
them  to  discover  that  their  claims  could  not  support  them, 
Nesters  are  a  dogged  breed  of  human.  It  takes  a  nester 
a  long  time  to  wake  up  to  the  fact  that  he's  licked,  and 
until  they  woke  up,  the  nesters  would  be  liable  to  block  the 
water  wheels  of  a  private  reclamation  scheme. 

' '  Then,  too,  if  it  should  become  bruited  abroad,  while  the 
valley  was  open  for  entry,  that  water  for  irrigation  was 
being  developed  up  the  valley,  settlers  could  have  flocked 
In  down  the  valley — and  waited  for  the  water.  A  nester 
is  patient.  His  life  is  spent  in  waiting.  Under  the  desert 
land  laws  one  can  file  on  three  hundred  and  twenty  acres, 
or  a  half -section,  pay  twenty-five  cents  per  acre  down  and 
then  wait  four  years  before  being  compelled  to  file  with  the 
land  office  the  proof  of  reclamation  that  will  entitle  him  to 
final  patent  to  his  land.  The  land  ring,  of  course,  knew 
this,  and  by  their  corrupt  influence  had  so  maneuvered  to 
hoodwink  the  General  Land  Office  that  the  valley  had  been 
withdrawn  from  entry.  When  they  had  protected  them 
selves  from  prospective  settlers,  it  would  be  safe  for  them 
to  develop  their  water  away  up  the  valley.  When  they 
were  ready,  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  suddenly  discover 
that  a  desert  valley  had,  by  some  stupid  error,  been  in 
cluded  in  a  Forest  Reserve,  the  boundaries  would  be  read 
justed  immediately,  the  valley  once  more  thrown  open  for 


122  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

entry  and — dummy  entrymen,  Johnny-on-the-spot,  to  file 
on  the  land  for  the  water  company !  "Within  the  statutory 
limit  of  four  years  the  water  company  would  have  had  time 
to  extend  its  canals  and  laterals,  the  dummy  entrymen 
would  have  been  able  to  show  proof  of  reclamation  and  se 
cure  their  patents,  and  after  waiting  a  year,  perhaps  to 
preserve  appearances,  they  would,  for  a  consideration, 
gradually  transfer  their  holdings  to  the  water  company. 
Within  five  years,  the  water  company  would  have  owned 
the  entire  valley,  would  have  reorganized,  called  them 
selves  a  land  and  irrigation  company  and  gone  into  the 
real  estate  business,  selling  five  to  twenty  acre  farms,  with 
a  perpetual  water  right,  at  prices  ranging  from  three  to 
five  hundred  dollars  per  acre. 

"I  didn't,  of  course,  know  who  was  behind  the  game, 
but  I  knew  the  rules  by  which  it  would  be  played.  I'm. 
more  or  less  of  a  mining  engineer,  Donna,  and  it's  part  of 
a  mining  engineer's  business  to  know  the  laws  relating  to 
the  public  domain.  I  could  see  that  unless  I  developed 
water  first  and  filed  on  the  land  first,  I  would  never  get 
my  farm  in  the  valley  without  paying  dearly  to  the  thieves 
who  had  stolen  from  me  my  constitutional  right  to  it. 

"Hence,  for  the  past  two  summers,  Donna,  I've  been  up 
in  the  Sierra  looking  for  water.  It  seemed  to  me  that  with 
so  many  mountain  lakes  up  there  below  the  snow-line,  I 
must  find  one  that  I  could  tap  and  bring  the  water  down 
into  my  valley.  If  Nature  made  a  mistake  in  the  valley, 
she  would  compensate  for  it  up  in  the  mountains,  and  I 
had  an  abiding  faith  that  if  I  searched  long  enough  I'd 
find  the  water. 

' '  I  circled  around  mountain  lakes  where  in  all  probability 
no  human  foot  but  mine  had  ever  trod.  I  crawled  along  the 
brink  of  a  chasm  three  thousand  feet  deep,  and  crossed  a 
glacier  crevice  on  a  rawhide  riata.  I  camped  three  nights 
on  a  peak  with  so  much  iron  ore  in  it  that  when  an  electrical 
storm  came  up  it  attracted  the  lightning  and  struck  around 
me  for  hours.  I  crawled  and  crept  and  climbed ;  I  fell ;  I 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  123 

was  cut  and  bruised  and  hungry  and  cold ;  but  all  the  time 
I  was  up  there  in  the  mountains  I  could  look  on  the  valley 
— my  valley — and  it  was  beautiful  and  I  didn't  mind. 

"A  big  thought  that  had  been  in  the  back  of  my  brain 
for  a  long  time  came  to  me  with  renewed  force  while  I  was 
up  there  in  those  Inyo  Alps — the  thought  that  if  I  could 
find  the  water  it  would  be  riches  enough  for  me.  But  I 
wanted  the  land,  too — not  merely  a  half-section  for  myself, 
but  the  whole  valley — only  I  didn't  want  it  for  myself. 
It  would  only  be  mine  in  trust,  a  sacred  heritage  that  be 
longed  to  the  lowly  of  the  earth,  and  I  wanted  to  save  it 
for  them.  I  could  see  them  all  at  that  moment,  the  roust 
abouts,  the  laborers  and  muckers,  the  unskilled  toilers  of 
the  world.  It  was  the  hewers  of  wood  and  the  drawers 
of  water  that  I  wanted  that  valley  to  bloom  for ;  the  poor, 
poor  devils  whose  only  hope  is  the  land  that  gave  them  birth 
and  life  and  would  receive  them  in  its  bosom  when  they 
perished.  Ten  acres  of  that  lonely  thirsty  land,  waiting 
there  for  me  to  reclaim  it  from  the  ruin  of  ages — ten  acres 
of  my  desert  valley  and  some  water  and  an  equal  chance — 
that's  what  I  wanted  for  each  of  my  fellow-Pagans,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  get  it  for  them  from  the  robber- 
barons  that  planned  to  steal  it. 

"It  comforted  me  a  whole  lot,  that  thought.  It  gave 
zest  to  the  battle,  and  made  the  prize  seem  worth  fighting 
for.  And  I  guess  the  God  of  a  Square  Deal  was  with  me 
that  day,  for  I  found  the  water.  I  discovered  a  lake  a 
mile  wide  and  nearly  five  miles  long,  fed  by  countless 
streams  from  the  melting  snow  on  the  peaks  above.  I 
walked  around  it,  but  I  couldn't  find  any  outlet,  and  yet 
the  lake  never  seemed  to  have  risen  higher  than  a  certain 
point.  This  puzzled  me  until  I  discovered  a  sandstone 
ledge  half-way  around  its  eastern  edge,  and  through  a 
gigantic  crevice  in  this  sandstone  the  water  escaped.  When 
the  lake  rose  to  the  edge  of  this  crevice,  during  the  sum 
mer  when  the  snow  was  melting-  up  on  the  face  of  old  Mount 
Kearsarge,  the  surplus  flowed  off  into  some  subterranean 


i24  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

outlet,  probably  emerging  at  the  head  of  some  canyon  miles 
away  on  the  other  side  of  the  range.  This  lake  was  hemmed 
in  by  hills,  and  between  two  of  these  hills  a  canyon  dropped 
away  sheer  to  the  desert  two  thousand  feet  below.  I  made 
careful  estimates  and  discovered  that  by  shooting  a  tunnel 
three  hundred  feet  through  the  country  rock  at  the  head 
of  this  canyon  I  would  come  out  on  the  other  side  of  the 
place  where  the  two  hills  met,  and  pierce  the  lake  below 
this  sandstone  crevice.  I  could  drain  the  lake  until  the 
surface  of  the  water  gradually  came  down  to  the  intake, 
when  I  could  put  in  a  concrete  pier  with  an  iron  head-gate 
and  regulate  the  flow.  Even  in  winter  when  the  lake  was 
frozen  over  I  would  have  a  steady  flow  of  water,  for  my 
tunnel  would  tap  the  lake  below  the  ice. 

' '  Having  found  the  water,  my  next  move  was  to  go  down 
into  the  valley,  into  the  great,  hot,  panting  hungry  heart  of 
Inyo  to  protect  the  land  for  my  Pagans.  At  the  land  office 
in  Independence  I  registered  my  filing  and  turned  to  leave, 
just  as  a  clerk  came  out  and  tacked  a  notice  on  the  bulletin 
board.  I  read  it.  It  was  the  customary  notice  to  settlers 
that  the  lower  valley  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  Forest 
Reserve  and  would  be  thrown  open  to  entry  at  the  expira 
tion  of  sixty  days  from  date. 

"I  went  to  the  feed  corral,  where  I  had  kept  Friar  Tuck 
all  summer,  while  I  was  up  in  the  mountains.  I  paid  my 
livery  bill,  threw  the  saddle  on  Friar  Tuck  and  headed 
south,  for  I  knew  that  if  I  was  to  turn  robber  baron  and 
steal  the  valley  for  my  Pagans  I'd  have  to  hustle.  I  got 
to  San  Pasqual  one  night  three  weeks  ago — and  here  I  am." 
Donna  was  silent.  For  perhaps  a  minute  she  gazed 
into  his  tense,  eager  face. 

""What  will  it  cost  to  drive  that  tunnel?"  she  queried 
finally. 

''With  me  superintending  the  job  and  swinging  a  pick 
and  drill  myself,  I  estimate  the  cost  at  about  five  thousand 
dollars." 

"And  how  long  does  your  right  hold  good  before  com 
mencing  operations  ? ' ' 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  125 

"The  law  allows  me  a  year." 

"And  you  have  five  weeks  left  in  which  to  plan  your 
campaign  to  acquire  the  land  ? ' ' 

"Five  weeks.  And  I'm  about  to  attempt  an  illegal  pro 
cedure,  only  I'm  going  to  do  it  legally.  I  want  to  tie  up 
fifty  sections  on  that  valley — aggregating  32,000  acres.  I 
have  money  enough  in  bank  at  Bakersfield  after  paying 
my  expenses  here,  to  accomplish  that.  If  I  can  tie  that 
land  up,  my  water-right  is  worth  millions.  If  the  other 
fellows  get  the  land,  they  will  buy  my  water-right  at  their 
own  figures,  or  starve  me  out  and  acquire  the  right  when 
I  am  forced  to  abandon  it  by  reason  of  my  inability 
to  develop  it;  or  failing  that  they  will  proceed  on  their 
original  plan  and  lead  their  own  water  down  the  valley  in 
canals.  Without  the  water  the  land  is  worthless,  and  with 
out  the  land  my  water-right  is  practically  worthless — to  me. 
To  control  that  32,000  acres  of  desert  I  will  have  to  put  up 
the  purchase  price  of  $40,000  for  the  men  I  induce  to  file 
on  the  land,  and  after  paying  the  filing  fee  of  $5  and  the 
initial  payment  of  $20  on  each  of  the  fifty  applications  for 
the  land,  I  '11  be  in  luck  if  I  'm  not  left  stranded  at  the  State 
Land  Office." 

"But  can  you  accomplish  this  in  opposition  to  the  land 
ring,  if  you  secure  all  the  money  you  will  require  ? ' ' 

"No"  he  answered.  "The  plan  I  have  outlined  is  a 
mere  contingency.  In  order  to  carry  it  out,  I  must  get  my 
filings  into  the  land  office  before  theirs — and  they  control 
the  land  office." 

' '  Then,  how  can  you  hope  to  succeed  ? ' ' 

Bob  smiled.  "Hope  doesn't  cost  anything,  Donna.  It's 
about  the  only  thing  I  know  of  that  can't  be  monopolized. 
A  man  can  hope  till  he's  licked,  at  least,  and  despite  the 
fact  that  I  have  neither  money  nor  corrupt  influence,  I 
have  a  long  chance  to  win.  I  have  one  grand  asset,  at 
least." 

"What  may  that  be?"  queried  Donna. 

"All  anybody  ever  needs — a  bright  idea." 


CHAPTER  IX 

BOB  McGRAW  threw  back  his  red  head  and  chuckled. 
"A  bright  idea,  sweetheart,"  he  repeated,  "and  if 
it  works  out  and  I  am  enabled  to  file  first,  the  prob 
lem  of  getting  back  to  the  desert  will  be  a  minor  one.  Tha 
real  problem  is  the  acquisition  of  four  or  five  thousand 
dollars  to  drive  my  tunnel,  and  after  that  I  must  scrape 
together  thirty-nine  thousand  dollars  to  advance  to  my  poor 
Pagans,  in  order  that  they  may  pay  for  the  land  on  which 
I  shall  have  induced  them  to  file.  In  the  meantime  I  do 
not  anticipate  any  diminution  in  the  appetites  of  myself 
and  Friar  Tuck. 

"Well,  after  I  have  my  tunnel  driven  and  the  head- 
gates  in  and  my  Pagans  have  the  land,  I  have  only  started. 
The  land  must  be  cleared  of  sage  and  greasewood,  which 
in  turn  must  be  piled  and  burned.  Then  I  must  build  sev 
eral  miles  of  concrete  aqueduct,  with  laterals  to  carry  the 
Water  for  irrigation,  and  I  must  install  a  hydro-electric 
power-plant,  purchase  telegraph  poles,  string  power  lines, 
build  roads,  houses,  barns  and  fences.  I  think  I  shall  even, 
have  to  build  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  railroad  into 
Donnaville  and  equip  it  with  rolling  stock." 

He  thrust  both  arms  out,  as  if  delving  into  the  treas 
ures  of  his  future.  "Whew-w-w!"  he  sighed.  "I'll  need 
oodles  of  money.  I  'm  going  to  be  as  busy  as  a  woodpecker 
in  the  acorn  season." 

Donna  drew  his  arm  within  hers  and  they  walked  slowly 
np  and  down  the  brick-lined  patio. 

"It  means  a  fight  to  the  finish,  Bobby  dear — and  you're 
terribly  handicapped.  If  your  suspicions  are  well  founded 
you  will  find  yourself  opposed  by  men  with  the  power  of 
wealth  and  political  influence  behind  them." 

126 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  127 

x 

His  whimsical  exalted  mood  passed.  In  the  presence  of 
the  girl  he  loved  and  whom  he  hoped  to  marry  he  suddenly 
realized  that  he  stood  face  to  face  with  a  gigantic  sacrifice. 
To  carry  through  to  a  conclusion,  successful  or  unsuccessful, 
this  great  work  to  which  he  had  set  his  hand  meant  that 
until  the  finish  came  he  must  renounce  his  hope  of  marriage 
with  Donna.  True,  he  might  win — but  it  would  take  years 
to  demonstrate  that  victory  was  even  in  sight;  if  he  lost, 
he  felt  that  he  could  never  have  the  heart  to  ask  her  to 
share  with  him  his  poverty  and  his  failures. 

An  intuitive  understanding  of  his  thoughts  came  to 
Donna  at  that  moment;  she  realized  that  under  that  gay, 
careless  exterior  there  beat  the  great  warm  heart  of  a  man. 
and  a  master,  on  whom,  for  all  his  youth  and  strength  and 
optimism,  a  great  load  of  ea?e  was  already  resting — the 
destiny  of  his  peep1*?.  She  realized  that  he  needed  help; 
Bhe  thought  >f  he/  insignificant  savings  (some  six  hundred 
dollars)  reposing  in  the  strong-box  of  the  eating-house  safe, 
and  the  first  impulse  of  her  generous  heart  was  to  offer 
him  these  hard-earned  dollars.  In  the  task  that  Bob  Mc- 
Graw  had  set  himself,  moral  support  was  a  kindly  thing 
to  offer,  but  dollars  were  the  things  that  counted ! 

However,  to  offer  him  financial  aid  now,  no  matter  how 
badly  he  required  money,  would  not  avail.  The  dictates 
of  his  manhood  would  not  permit  him  to  accept,  and  until 
God  and  man  had  given  her  the  right  to  make  the  offer  she 
must  remain  silent. 

"I  can  wait  here  until  you're  ready  to  come  for  me, 
Bob"  she  said  bravely.  "It's  a  big  task — a  man's  work — 
that  you're  going  to  do,  and  win  or  lose,  I  want  you  to 
fight  the  good  fight.  I  know  the  kind  of  man  I  want  to 
inarry.  If  he  starts  anything  that's  big  and  noble  and 
worthy  of  him,  I  want  him  to  finish  it — if  he  wants  to  marry 
me.  Success  or  failure  counts  but  little  with  men  like  you  j 
it  is  only  the  fight  that  matters,  and  there  are  some  defeats 
that  are  more  glorious  than  victories.  Remember  that  lit 
tle  jingle,  dearie: 


128  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

The  harder  you're  hit,  the  higher  you  bounce, 

Be  proud  of  your  blackened  eye. 
It  isn't  the  fact  that  you're  licked  that  counts, 

But  how  did  you  fight — and  why? 

"Yon  quoted  your  Pagan's  Litany  to  me  to-night,  sweet 
heart.  I  want  you  to  be  true  to  it.  I  don't  know  a  thing 
about  desert  land  laws  and  riparian  rights,  but  I  do  know 
that  if  you  sold  your  Pagans  into  bondage  for  money  to 
marry  me,  I'd  be  ashamed  of  you — and  disappointed. 
Don't  let  your  love  for  me  weaken  your  defenses,  Bob. 
If  you  win  I  want  to  live  with  you  in  Donnaville,  but  if 
you  lose — I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise,  Bob." 

"You  wonderful  woman!  What  is  it — you  wonderful, 
wonderful  woman?" 

"I'm  asking  for  a  promise,  dear." 

"Ill  grant  it." 

"If  you  lose,  you'll  come  to  me  and  well  be  married 
despite  defeat  and  failure,  and  you'll  live  here,  with  me — 
at  the  Hat  Ranch  until — " 

"Oh,  Bonnie,  girl,  I  couldn't  do  that!" 

"I  understand  your  point  of  view.  Perhaps  you  think 
me  bold — or  unconventional.  But  a  woman  has  certain 
rights,  Bob.  She  should  be  given  the  right  to  outline  her 
own  ideas  of  happiness,  regardless  of  tradition  and  ancient 
usage,  provided  she  conforms  to  all  of  the  law,  legal  and 
moral.  If  you  go  forth  to  battle  and  they  slaughter  you, 
I  claim  the  right  to  pick  up  your  poor  battered  old  heart 
and  give  it  the  only  comfort — I  mean,  if  I  have  to  wait, 
I  love  you  enough  to  work  with  you — and  for  you — when 
further  waiting  is  useless — " 

She  pressed  her  face  against  his  great  breast  and  com 
menced  to  cry. 

"I  have  never  been  really  happy  until  you  came"  she 
sobbed.  "We're  young,  Bob — and  I  do  not  want  to  wait 
—for  happiness — until  the  capacity  for  it — is  gone." 

He  patted  the  beautiful  head,  soothing  her  with  tender 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  129 

words,  and  it  was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  in  that 
instant  he  made  his  decision. 

"Within  six  weeks  I  shall  know  how  long  the  fight  is 
to  last,  Donna.  If  I  can  put  through  a  scheme  which  I 
have  evolved  to  secure  that  land  without  recourse  to  the 
desert  land  laws — if  I  can  get  my  applications  filed  first 
in  the  State  Land  Office — I  shall  have  won  the  first  battle 
of  the  war.  If  I  fail  to  do  this  I  shall  have  lost  the  land, 
and  without  further  ado  I  shall  sell  my  water-right  to  the 
best  possible  advantage.  The  enemy  may  conclude  to  pay 
me  a  reasonable  price  for  it,  rather  than  declare  war  and 
delay  the  development  of  their  land.  The  power  possi 
bilities  of  my  water-right  are  tremendous  and  I  think  I 
can  force  a  good  price,  for  I  can  poke  away  at  my  tunnel 
and  by  doing  the  assessment  work  I  can  keep  my  title  alive 
for  a  few  years.  Of  course,  in  the  event  that  I  should, 
after  the  lapse  of  years,  be  financially  unable  to  develop 
my  water-right,  or  interest  others  in  it,  I  should  lose  it 
and  they  would  grab  it,  no  doubt.  But  thej  will  buy  me 
out,  I  think,  rather  than  brook  delay." 

She  raised  her  face,  transfigured  through  tke  tears. 

"Then,  win  or  lose — " 

"Win  or  lose,  if  you  desire  it  and  I  can  scrape  together 
the  price  of  a  marriage  license,  we'll  be  married  in  six 
weeks. ' ' 

"I'm  so  tired  of  the  desert,  dear.    I'm  lonely." 

"A  little  like  Br'er  B'ar,  eh,  darling?  You  want  to  see 
the  other  side  of  the  mountain."  He  pressed  her  to  him 
lovingly.  "Of  course"  (with  masculine  inconsistency  Bob 
was  beginning  to  equivocate)  "I  may  not  be  able  to  sell 
my  water-right  and  the  enemy  may  elect  to  play  a  waiting 
game  and  starve  me  out.  In  that  case,  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  you  to  burden  you  with  a  husband  whose  sole  assets 
are  his  dreams  and  his  hopes." 

"That  makes  no  difference"  she  exclaimed  passionately. 
"We're  young.  We'll  fight  the  rest  of  the  battle  to 
gether." 


130  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

""Well,  there's  strength  in  numbers,  at  any  rate,  beloved 
You  're  nay  mascot  and  I  'm  bound  to  win. ' '  He  placed  hi* 
left  hand  under  her  chin  and  tilted  her  face  upward.  Ha 
was  stooping  to  seal  their  compact  with  a  true  lover's  kiss, 
when  the  sound  of  footsteps  startled  them.  Both  turned 
guiltily,  to  confront  Mr.  Harley  P.  Hennage. 

"Hah-hah,"  puffed  Mr.  Hennage,  "at  it  again,  eh?" 
He  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  house,  with  his  three  gold 
teeth  flashing  in  the  moonlight. 

"Kill- joy!"  hissed  Bob  McGraw.  "His  Royal  High- 
ness,  Kill-joy  the  Thirteenth!" 

Harley  P.  shook  a  fat  forefinger  at  the  lovers.  "If  I 
was  a  young  feller,  Bob  McGraw — " 

"Mr.  Hennage,  you're  an  old  snooper,  that's  what  you 
are!"  cried  Donna.  "You're  all  the  time  snooping." 

"Explain  this  unwarranted  intrusion,  Harley  P.  Hen. 
nage"  Bob  demanded,  as  he  advanced  with  outstretched 
hand  to  greet  the  gambler.  "I'll  have  you  know  that  m 
approaching  this  ranch  hereafter,  you  will  be  required  to 
halt  at  the  front  gate  and  whistle,  cough,  stamp  your  feet, 
yell  or  fire  six  shots  from  a  Colts  revolver — " 

"You  mean  a  presidential  salute  o'  twenty-one  twelve- 
inch  guns ' '  retorted  Harley  P.  "I  ain 't  no  snooper.  I  Va 
wore  corns  on  my  hands  a-bangin'  ^hat  there  iron  gate  to 
announce  my  approach,  an'  it  wasn't  no  use;  so  I  just 
made  up  my  mind  you  was  ready  to  receive  me  an'  I 
come  ramblin'  in.  Donnie,  you  know  I  ain't  one  o'  the 
presumin'  kind." 

He  held  out  a  hand  to  Bob  and  another  to  Donna, 
"How?"  he  queried,  and  made  swift  appraisal  of  Bob 
McGraw  from  heels  to  hair.  "You've  filled  out  a  whole 
lot  since  the  last  time  I  seen  you  standin'  up.  How's 
tricks?" 

"Great.     I'll  be  out  in  a  day  or  two." 

The  gambler  nodded  his  approval  of  this  cheerful  news, 
Donna  brought  out  another  chair  and  the  trio  sat  in  the 
secluded  patio  and  talked  generalities  for  ten  minutes. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  131 

Donna  knew  that  Mr.  Hennage  must  have  some  reason 
for  calling  other  than  a  mere  desire  to  pay  his  respects 
to  Bob,  and  presently  he  unbosomed  himself. 

"Our  mutual  friend,  Miss  Piekett,  has  a  notice  pasted 
up  on  the  wall  o'  the  postoffice,  advertisin'  a  registered 
letter  for  one  Robert  McGraw."  The  gambler  tittered  fool 
ishly.  "Ain't  a  soul  can  tell  Miss  Piekett  who  the  feller 
is  or  where  he's  at,  except  me  an'  Doc  Taylor  an'  Miss 
Donna — an'  we're  all  swore  to  secrecy,  so  I  come  down  to 
scheme  out  a  way  to  bell  the  cat — meanin'  Miss  Piekett" 
he  added,  apparently  as  an  afterthought. 

"A  letter  for  me?"  Bob  was  surprised.  ""Why,  it's 
years  since  I  have  received  a  letter.  I  wonder  who  could 
know  that  I  might  be  found  in  San  Pasqual  ?  I  didn  't  tell 
anybody  I  was  headed  this  way,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  hadn't  intended  staying  here  beyond  that  first  night." 

"Well,  there's  a  letter  there  all  right,"  reiterated  Mr. 
Hennage,  "an'  if  I  was  called  on  to  give  a  guess  who  sent 
it  I'd  bet  a  stack  o'  blue  chips  I  could  hit  the  bull's  eye 
first  shot.  A  dry,  purse-proud  aristocrat,  with  gray  chin 
whiskers  an'  a  pair  o'  bespectacled  blue  lamps  that'd  charm 
a  Gila  monster,  they're  that  shiny,  lined  up  at  the  Silver 
Dollar  bar  the  other  day  an'  bought  a  drink  for  himself. 
Yes,  he  drank  alone — which  goes  to  prove  that  men  with 
money  ain't  always  got  the  best  manners  in  the  world. 
Well,  after  stowin'  away  his  little  jolt,  he  comes  fussin* 
around  among  the  boys,  askin'  which  one  of  'em  is  Mr. 
Robert  McGraw.  Of  course  he  didn't  get  no  information, 
an'  wouldn't  'a  got  it  if  the  boys  had  it.  So  he  goes  down 
to  see  Miss  Piekett,  an*  bimeby  me  an'  him  meets  up  in 
front  o'  the  eatin'  house,  an'  he  up  an'  asked  me  if  I  could 
tell  him  who  owns  that  little  roan  cayuse  kiekin'  up  his 
heels  over  in  the  feed  corral. 

"Of  course,  I  seen  right  off  that  Miss  Piokett  had  her 
suspicions  an'  had  sicked  this  stranger  onto  me;  so  when 
he  informed  me  that  he'd  been  told  I  knew  the  name  o' 
the  little  hoss'  owner,  I  told  him  J  did — that  the  little  roan 


132  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

boss  belonged  to  a  Mexican  friend  o'  mine  by  the  name  o' 
Enrique  Maria  Jose  Sanchez  Flavio  Domingo  Miramontes. 

"He  give  me  a  sour  look  at  that.  'Well,  that  don't 
correspond  none  with  the  initials  on  the  saddle'  he  says. 

"  'Shucks,'  I  says,  'that  don't  signify  no  thin'.  Mexi 
cans  is  the  biggest  hoss  thieves  livin';  besides,  I  ain't  feelin' 
'disputatious  to-night,  so  I'll  just  close  up  my  game  an'  g€ 
get  my  scoffin's.' 

"  'But  I  must  find  this  man'  he  says.  'It  means  a  great 
deal  to  him — an'  me.' 

"  'What  do  you  call  a  great  deal?' 

"  'Money'  he  says. 

"I  says:  'See  here,  pardner,  don't  you  go  givin'  m 
money  to  no  Mexican,  because  he  '11  only  gamble  it  away  OR 
three-card  monte.' 

"  'I  don't  mean  your  Mexican  friend,'  he  says,  like  a 
snappin'  turtle,  'I'm  after  a  man  named  Robert  McGraw.* 

"  'Oh,'  I  saysp'you  mean  that  red-headed  outlaw  from 
up  country?  Why  I  didn't  know  he  was  wanted.  What's 
it  this  time?  He  ain't  got  himself  mixed  up  in  more  trou 
ble,  has  he  ? ' 

"  'I  prefer  to  refrain  from  discussin'  the  details,'  says 
this  wealthy  gent,  'with  a  perfect  stranger.' 

"  'Oh,  very  well'  I  says.  'I  didn't  seek  this  interview, 
but  when  you  mentioned  the  hoss  I  could  tell  by  the  look 
in  your  eye  that  McGraw's  been  robbin'  you  o'  somethin'. 
Well,  you  might  own  that  hoss,  but  you've  got  to  prove 
property.  McGraw  sold  the  hoss  to  Enrique  an'  lit  out 
for  Bakersfield,  an'  I  won  the  hoss  from  Enrique  at  faro, 
I  been  keepin'  him  in  the  corral  in  order  to  give  the  Mexi 
can  a  chance  to  buy  him  back.  But  McGraw 's  not  in  town 
He  won't  be  here  for  a  week  or  two  yet.' 

"  'Thank  you,  my  man,'  says  he,  an'  pulls  a  card,  just 
about  the  time  I  was  gettin'  ready  to  pull  his  nose.  'If 
you  should  see  Mr.  McGraw,  you  might  be  good  enough 
to  tell  him  he  can  learn  of  somethin'  to  his  advantage  by 
eommunicatin'  with  me  right  away.' 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  133 

"  '"Well,  my  man,'  I  says,  'I  do  hope  it's  an  alibi,'  an' 
I  took  the  card  an'  he  went  back  to  Miss  Pickett.  I  want 
to  tell  you,  children,  that  any  time  Miss  Molly  thinks  she 
can  spring  a  secret  out  o'  me  she's  got  to  go  some." 

Mr.  Hennage  chuckled,  produced  a  white  square  of  card 
board  and  handed  it  to  Bob.  Donna,  leaning  over  his  shoul 
der,  read: 

MR.  T.   MORGAN  CAREY 

PRESIDENT 

INTO  LAND  &   IRRIGATION   COMPANY, 

4JL4-422  SOUTHERN  TRUST   BUILDING, 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA 

"I've  heard  of  that  fellow  before,"  mused  Bob,  "and 
it  strikes  me  his  name  is  associated  with  some  unpleasant 
memory,  but  I  can't  recall  just  what  it  is.  However,  I 
can  hazard  a  good  guess  as  to  what  he  desires  to  see  me 
about.  I'm  glad  you  didn't  tell  him  where  I  might  be 
found,  Hennage.  It  was  thoughtful  of  you.  I  do  not 
nare  to  meet  T.  Morgan  Carey — yet." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hennage,  "he's  a  smart  man  an'  smells 
o'  ready  money.  However,  I  wasn't  goin'  to  give  him  no 
information  until  I'd  talked  with  you  first,  although  my 
main  idea  was  to  throw  Miss  Pickett  off  the  scent.  I'm. 
goin'  up  to  Bakersfield  to-night,  Bob,  and  just  to  keep 
up  appearances,  you  give  me  an  order  for  that  registered 
letter,  datin'  the  order  from  Bakersfield,  to-morrow,  an' 
I'll  mail  that  order  from  Bakersfield  to  myself  in  San 
Pasqual.  Then  to-morrow  night  when  I  get  back  I'll  go 
to  the  post-office  for  my  mail.  I  ain't  had  a  letter  come 
to  me  in  ten  years.  Miss  Pickett '11  give  me  the  letter,  I'll 
open  it  right  in  front  o'  her  an'  flash  the  order  for  the 
registered  letter,  an'  the  old  gossip  '11  be  fjmoyed  to  death 
to  think  she's  lost  the  trail." 

When  presently  Bob  went  into  the  house  to  write  the 
desired  order  for  Harley  P.,  Donna  and  the  gambler  were 
left  alone  for  a  few  minutes.  Instantly  Mr.  Hennage  be 
came  serious. 


i34  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Looky  here,  Miss  Donnie,"  lie  said,  "Bob  McGraw's 
free,  white  an'  twenty-one  an'  he  can  play  his  own  hand. 
I  ain't  one  of  the  presumin'  kind  an'  I  hate  to  tell  any 
man  his  own  business,  but  if  twenty  years  o'  gamblin'  an' 
meetin'  all  kinds  an'  conditions  o'  men  ain't  made  me  as 
fly  as  a  road-runner,  then  that  there  artesian  well  is  spoutin ' 
mint  juleps.  Say,  Miss  Donnie,  if  ever  I  see  a  cold-blooded, 
fishy,  snaky,  ornery  man,  it's  this  T.  Morgan  Carey — an' 
at  that  he's  a  dead  ringer  for  a  church  deacon.  That 
Carey  man  would  steal  a  hot  stove  without  burnin'  himself. 
Now,  this  young  Bob  is  an  impulsive  cuss,  an'  if  he  has 
any  dealin's  of  a  money  nature  with  this  sweet-scented 
porch-climber  that's  on  his  trail,  you  take  a  tip  from  Har- 
ley  P.  Hennage,  Miss  Donnie,  an'  act  as  lookout  on  Bob's 
game.  Miss  Donnie,  I  can  tell  a  crook  in  the  dark.  Let 
a  crook  try  to  buck  my  game  an'  I  have  him  spotted  in  a 
minute.  I  just  feel  'em." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Hennage.  I  have  great  faith  in  your 
judgment. ' ' 

"WeJl,  generally  speakin',  I  call  the  turn,  if  I  do  say  so 
myself. ' ' 

He  sat  tnere,  his  bow-legs  spread  apart,  his  hands  folded 
across  his  ample  abdomen,  staring  thoughtfully  at  the  lit 
tle  white  cross  down  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 

"You're  a  heap  like  your  mother"  he  said  presently, 
and  sighed. 

"When  Bob  returned  with  the  order  for  the  registered 
letter,  Mr.  Hennage  tucked  it  carefully  in  his  side  coat 
pocket;  then  from  his  rear  hip  pocket  he  produced  Bob 
'McGraw's  automatic  gun. 

"I  took  charge  o'  this  the  night  o'  the  mix-up"  he  ex 
plained  as  he  returned  it.  He  looked  hard  at  Bob.  "When 
you're  ready  to  toddle  about"  he  added,  with  a  lightning 
wink  and  a  slight  movement  of  his  fat  thumb  and  fore 
finger,  as  if  counting  a  stack  of  imaginary  bills,  "send 
S£EI  Singer  up  to  let  me  know.  Comprende,  amigo?" 

smiled  at  this  sinful  philanthropist.     "Not  neces 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  135 

sary,  old  man — if  you'll  drop  in  at  the  Kern  County  Bank 
and  Trust  Company  in  Bakersfield  to-morrow  and  get  me 
a  check-book.  I  have  owed  you  fifty  for  three  years  and 
I'd  like  to  square  up." 

"Sure  you  ain't  bluffin'  on  no  pair?" 

"Thank  you,  Harley.    I  have  a  small  stake." 

"Well,  holler  when  you're  hit."  He  waved  his  hand 
and  departed  with  a  "Buenas  noclies,  children." 

Scarcely  had  the  gate  slammed  behind  him  when  Bob 
turned  to  Donna  with  beaming  face. 

"They're  after  my  water-right,  sweetheart — they're 
after  it  already!"  His  exultant  laugh  rang  through  the 
patio.  "I  knew  I  was  treading  on  somebody's  toes  when 
I  filed  on  that  water,  Donna.  By  George,  I  must  investi 
gate  T.  Morgan  Carey  and  ascertain  the  kind  of  man  I 
have  to  fight," 

1 '  He  came  here  looking  for  you  a  week  after  you  arrived, 
Doesn  't  that  seem  strange  ?  How  did  he  discover  you  had 
a  water-right,  investigate  it,  ascertain  its  value  and  then 
Qome  seeking  you,  all  in  the  course  of  one  week?" 

""That  is  very  sasily  explained,  Donna.  It  merely  veri 
fies  my  suspicions  that  there  is  a  ring  of  land-grabbers 
operating  in  this  state,  which  ring  controls  some  official  of 
the  State  Land  Office  and  keeps  on  its  pay-roll  an  employe 
in  every  United  States  land  office  in  California.  The  mo 
ment  I  filed  on  that  water,  T.  Morgan  Carey  was  notified 
by  his  tool  in  the  State  Land  Office  that  Robert  McGraw 
(I  gave  my  address  as  Independence,  Inyo  county)  had 
filed  on  one  hundred  thousand  miners'  inches  of  water  for 
power  and  irrigation.  Now,  there  isn't  that  much  non- 
alkaline  water  available  anywhere  in  the  valley — at  least 
under  the  control  of  one  man  or  one  corporation,  and  of 
course  it  frightened  Carey.  He  wired  his  field  engineer, 
who  was  probably  in  Inyo  county  at  the  time,  to  investi 
gate.  The  engineer  found  my  location  notices  tacked  to 
a  cottonwood  tree  right  where  I'm  going  to  drive  my 
tunnel,  and  he  immediately  reported  to  Carey  that  the 


i36  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

location  was  very  valuable.  Also  he  wired  my  name  and 
general  description  and  probably  stated  that  the  last  seen 
of  me  I  was  headed  south  for  the  railroad  on  a  roan  bronco. 
They've  traced  me  by  my  horse  to  San  Pasqual,  and  now 
they're  trying  to  find  me  with  a  registered  letter;  very 
probably  acting  under  the  advice  of  Miss  Pickett,  who, 
apparently,  is  an  elderly  bird  and  not  to  be  caught  with 
Harley  P.  Hennage's  chaff. 

"It's  absurdly  simple,  dear.  They  want  my  water,  for 
they  must  eliminate  competition,  and  they  want  to  tie  me 
up  before  I  have  an  opportunity  to  sell  to  somebody  who 
realizes  the  value  of  my  holdings.  Up  Inyo  way  they  know 
me  for  a  range  rider,  a  desert  rat,  a  ne'er-do-well,  and  it 
may  be  they  are  under  the  impression  that  I  am  like  most 
of  my  kind — that  I  can  be  mesmerized  by  the  sight  of  four 
or  five  thousand  dollars." 

"Harley  P.  will  give  me  your  letter  to-morrow  night  and 
111  bring  it  home  with  me.  "Well  know  definitely, 
then,  what  to  expect.  In  the  meantime,  Bob,  I  think 
you've  dreamed  enough  for  one  night.  You've  been  up  all 
day  and  you've  talked  and  it's  time  you  went  to  bed." 

"  'Talk'  "  he  echoed,  "talk!  That's  what.  I've  been 
talking — talk.  But  when  I  clash  with  T.  Morgan  Carey's 
company  I'll  talk — turkey.  If  you'll  kiss  me  good-night,. 
Donna,  I  think  I  can  manage  to  last  until  morning." 

Late  the  following  afternoon  Harley  P.  Hennage  re 
turned  from  Bakersfield  and  at  once  went  to  the  post- 
office  and  secured  Bob's  registered  letter.  He  brought  it 
jover  to  Donna  at  the  eating-house,  delivering  with  it  a 
'pantomime  of  the  inquisitive  Miss  Pickett  when  she  dis 
covered  that  the  order  for  delivery  of  the  registered  letter 
to  the  gambler  was  dated  and  mailed  from  Bakersfield. 

At  dinner  Bob  read  the  letter  and  silently  handed  it  over 
to  Donna.  It  was  from  T.  Morgan  Carey.  On  behalf 
of  the  Inyo  Land  &  Irrigation  Company  Carey  requested 
the  favor  of  an  interview  at  an  early  date  to  take  up  with 
Bob  the  matter  of  purchasing  his  newly  acquired  water- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  137 

right  on  Cottonwood  lake,  or  submitting  a  proposition  for 
consolidation  with  certain  rights  held  by  his  company.  He 
begged  for  an  early  reply. 

"Will  you  reply  to  his  letter?"  Donna  queried. 

"Yes.  I  shall  write  him  that  my  location  is  not  for 
sale." 

"Then  write  it  from  Bakersfield"  Donna  suggested. 
"Harley  P.'s  reputation  is  bad  enough,  but  you  mustn't 
eonvict  him  of  lying. ' ' 

Three  days  later  Bob 's  strength  had  so  far  returned  that 
Doc  Taylor  told  him  he  might  leave  San  Pasqual  whenever 
he  pleased.  Bob  realized  that  a  longer  stay  at  the  Hat 
Ranch,  while  inviting  enough,  would  nevertheless  prove 
expensive,  by  reason  of  the  retention  of  his  nurse,  for 
Donna  could  not  continue  to  entertain  him  unchaperoned, 
even  in  such  a  free-and-easy  town  as  San  Pasqual,  and  he 
was  fearful  that  a  longer  stay,  even  under  the  prevailing 
conditions,  might  prove  embarrassing  to  Donna,  in  case 
interest  in  his  affairs  should  revive;  hence  he  announced 
his  determination  of  going  up  to  San  Francisco  to  re 
cuperate  and  complete  his  plans  for  the  acquisition  of 
thirty-two  thousand  acres  of  the  public  domain  in  the 
desert  of  Owens  river  valley. 

Donna  did  not  endeavor  to  dissuade  him.  She  realized 
that  a  longer  stay  was  impossible,  much  as  both  desired 
it,  and  Bob  had  his  work  to  do  and  not  a  great  deal  of 
time  in  which  to  do  it.  Accordingly  Bob  issued  a  check 
to  Doc  Taylor  that  evening  in  payment  of  his  fee,  dismissed 
his  nurse  and  paid  her  off,  and  left  with  Donna  another 
check,  to  be  cashed  by  Harley  P.  Hennage  and  the  pro 
ceeds  applied  to  the  care  and  maintenance  of  Friar  Tuck 
until  Bob's  return  to  San  Pasqual. 

During  the  afternoon  Bob  dispatched  Sam  Singer  to 
Harley  P.  Hennage  with  a  request  for  a  shaving  outfit, 
a  shirt,  underwear,  a  necktie  and  a  new  suit  of  khaki. 
Armed  with  information  respecting  the  physical  dimen 
sions  of  Mr.  McGraw,  the  gambler  had  attended  to  Bob's 


138  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

shopping,  and  upon  Donna's  return  to  the  Hat  Ranch  that 
night  she  discovered  that  during  her  absence  a  transforrua' 
tion  had  taken  place.  Bob  was  arrayed  in  his  new  habili- 
tnents,  and  paraded  up  and  down  the  patio  for  the  inspec 
tion  of  Donna  and  the  nurse. 

"Well,  Donna"  he  called  to  her,  "how  do  I  look?  Pre 
sentable?  I  know  I'm  feeling  clean  and  respectable  again, 
at  any  rate,  and  I've  asked  Sam  Singer  to  bury  that  ruin 
of  rags  I  wore  into  town." 

"Your  gun  hangs  below  the  tail  of  your  khaki  coat." 

"Then  I'll  tuck  it  up  under  my  arm." 

Donna  helped  him  remove  the  coat,  after  which  he 
buckled  the  belt  over  his  right  shoulder,  permitting  the 
gun  to  hang  securely  in  the  holster  under  his  left  arm. 

"Now,  I  don't  look  so  confoundedly  woolly  and  west 
ern"  he  said.  "I  do  hate  to  go  about  looking  like  the 
hero  of  a  dime  novel.  I  suppose  if  a  tourist  saw  that  gun 
hanging  down  he'd  think  I  was  bloodthirsty.  It  would 
never  occur  to  him  that  a  gun  comes  in  handy  in  the  wil 
derness.  ' ' 

"Why  not  leave  it  here  until  your  return?" 

Bob  grinned.  "It's  a  good  gun,  Donna.  I  might  be 
able  to  pawn  it  for  enough  to  help  out  on  my  return  trip. 
Of  course  I  have  a  watch,  but  its  hockable  value  is  nega 
tive.  When  I  was  very  young  I  was  foolish  enough  to 
have  my  initials  engraved  on  the  case,  but  of  course  I  know 
better  now — by  George,  Donna  girl,  I  haven 't  any  hat ! ' ' 

She  flashed  him  one  of  her  rare  wonderful  smiles.  "I 
was  waiting  for  you  to  make  that  discovery"  she  said. 
"You  lost  your  hat  the  night  you  arrived  in  San  Pasqual, 
but  I  haven't  worried  about  it.  I've  been  saving  a  splen 
did  big  sombrero  for  you,  Bob." 

Slie  went  to  her  room,  returning  presently  with  a  "cow 
boy"  hat  that  must  have  been  the  joy  and  pride  of  the 
tourist  who  sacrificed  it  to  the  San  Pasqual  zephyr.  She 
pinched  it  to  a  peak  and  set  it  jauntily  on  his  auburn  headt 
then  stood  off  and  surveyed  him  critically. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  139 

"It's  a  dear"  she  announced. 

"Looks  dear,  too"  he  replied  whimsically.  "Must  have 
cost  the  original  owner  a  month 's  board.  Whew !  That 's 
a  bird  of  a  hat,  Donna  girl.  Thank  you.  It's  as  good  a 
hat  as  I'll  ever  own." 

He  sat  down  forthwith,  turned  back  the  sweat-band,' 
moistened  it  slightly  and  with  the  stub  of  an  indelible  pen. 
cil  wrote  his  name  in  full.  He  had  ridden  range  long 
enough  to  acquire  the  habit  of  branding  his  property,  and 
in  that  land  of  breeze  and  sunshine  he  knew  the  dangers 
that  beset  a  maverick  hat. 

That  night  they  walked  together  in  the  patio  for  the 
last  time.  Neither  felt  inclined  to  conversation,  for  the 
thoughts  of  each  were  occupied  with  dreams  of  the  future,, 
and  the  tragedy  of  that  farewell  lay  heavy  upon  them. 
Lover-like,  each  exacted  from  the  other  a  promise  to  write 
every  day,  and  that  important  detail  finally  settled,  Donna 
found  it  easy  enough  to  be  brave  and  let  him  go. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Sam  Singer  appeared  in  the  patio  to 
announce  his  willingness  to  trundle  Bob  up  to  San  Pasqual 
on  the  same  trackwalker's  velocipede  upon  which  Bob  had 
arrived  at  the  Hat  Ranch.  The  nurse  was  not  to  leave 
until  the  next  day,  and  being  a  discreet  woman,  and  kindly 
withal,  she  had  had  the  delicacy  to  bid  her  patient  fare 
well  in  the  patio.  Donna  accompanied  him  to  the  front 
gate,  and  there  Bob  with  many  a  fervent  promise  to  take 
good  care  of  himself — and  not  to  forget  to  write  every 
day,  took  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  quickly  before  the 
tears  should  have  a  chance  to  rise,  and  was  gone. 

She  watched  him  stride  slowly  through  the  gloom  to 
the  velocipede  waiting  on  the  tracks;  she  saw  him  climb 
aboard.  Then  the  Indian's  body  bent  over  the  levers  and 
the  machine  glided  away  into  the  night.  She  stood  at  the 
gate  and  watched  it  until  it  vanished;  she  waited  until 
Twenty-six  came  thundering  by  at  eleven-thirty-five  and 
heard  the  grind  of  the  brakes  as  the  long  train  pulled  up 
at  the  station.  Five  minutes  later  she  heard  it  pull  out 


140  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

of  San  Pasqual,  with  many  a  short  and  labored  gasp, 
casting  a  lurid  gleam  across  the  desert  as  it  sped  north 
ward  into  Tehachapi  Pass,  carrying  Bob  McGraw  forth  to 
battle,  to  fight  for  his  land  and  his  Pagans. 

When  the  last  dim  flicker  of  the  green  tail  lights  had 
disappeared  Donna  retired  to  her  room  and  cried  herself 
to  sleep.  Once  more  she  was  left  to  battle  alone  with  the 
world,  and  the  days  would  be  long  until  Bob  McGraw  came 
back. 

Three  hours  after  leaving  Donna  Corblay  at  the  Hat 
Ranch,  Bob  McGraw  alighted  from  the  train  at  Bakers- 
field  and  went  at  once  to  a  hotel.  He  arose  late  the  next 
morning,  breakfasted  in  the  most  appalling  loneliness  and 
later  wended  his  way  weakly  to  the  bank  where  his  meager 
funds  were  on  deposit.  Here  he  had  his  account  balanced 
and  discovered  that  his  total  fortune  amounted  to  a  trifle 
over  sixteen  hundred  dollars,  so  he  closed  out  his  account 
and  purchased  a  draft  on  San  Francisco  for  the  amount 
of  his  balance,  less  sufficient  money  to  pay  his  current 
expenses. 

This  detail  attended  to,  Mr.  McGraw  next  proceeded  to 
do  what  he  had  always  done  when  in  a  civilized  community 
— spend  his  money  recklessly.  He  went  back  to  the  hotel, 
called  Donna  on  the  long-distance  phone  and  frittered  away 
two  dollars  in  inconsequential  conversation.  However,  he 
felt  amply  rewarded  for  the  extravagance  when  Donna's 
Voice — deep,  throaty,  almost  a  baritone — came  to  him  over 
the  wire;  the  delighted,  almost  childish  cry  of  amazement 
which  greeted  his  "Hello,  Donna  girl"  was  music  to  his 
eoul. 

Bob  was  the  kind  of  man  who  always  thinks  of  the  little 
things.  He  knew  Donna  had  gone  to  work  that  morning 
feeling  blue  and  lonely,  and  the  substitution  of  that  mood 
for  one  of  genuine  happiness  for  the  rest  of  the  day  Mr. 
McGraw  would  have  considered  cheap  at  the  price  of  his 
great  toe  or  a  hastily  plucked  handful  of  his  auburn  locks. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  141 

As  for  money — bah!  Had  it  been  his  last  two  dollars  it 
would  have  made  no  difference.  He  would  have  telephoned 
just  the  same  and  trusted  to  heaven  to  rain  manna  for  his 
next  meal. 

But  Bob  McGraw  was  nothing  if  not  an  impetuous  lover. 
Even  in  the  case  of  one  who,  like  himself,  had  plans  afoot 
where  every  dollar  counted,  we  might  pardon  readily  the 
expenditure  of  two  dollars  on  conversation,  in  view  of  the 
extraordinary  circumstances ;  but  Mr.  McGraw 's  next  move 
savors  so  strongly  of  the  veal  period  of  his  existence  that 
no  amount  of  extenuating  circumstances  may  be  adduced 
in  defense  of  it.  While  the  promoter  of  Donnaville  was 
a  true  son  of  the  desert,  he  was  college-bred,  and  with  the 
sight  now,  for  the  first  time  in  several  years,  of  trolley  cars, 
automobiles  and  people  wearing  clean  linen,  old  memories 
surged  up  in  Mr.  McGraw 's  damaged  breast,  and  despite 
the  fact  that  his  long  legs  were  now  weak  and  wobbly  from 
the  premature  strain  of  his  journey  from  the  hotel  to  the 
bank  and  back  again,  he  fared  forth  once  more  and  pur 
sued  the  uneven  tenor  of  his  way  until  he  found  himself 
in  a  florist's  shop. 

Here  no  less  than  six  dozen  red  carnations  caught  Mr. 
McGraw 's  fancy,  the  purchase  price  of  which,  in  addition 
to  the  express  charges  prepaid  to  San  Pasqual,  further 
denuded  him  of  ten  dollars.  Into  the  heart  of  this  cluster 
of  fragrance  he  caused  to  be  secreted  a  tiny  envelope  en 
closing  a  card,  upon  which  he  had  drawn  a  heart  with  a 
feathered  arrow  sticking  through  it;  and  for  fear  this 
symbolic  declaration  of  undying  devotion  might  not  be 
sufficient,  he  scrawled  beneath  it:  "Love  from  Bob." 

Ah,  if  he  could  only  have  seen  Donna's  face  when  the 
express  messenger  next  door  brought  that  votive  offering 
in  to  her!  Red  carnations  were  not  frequent  in  San  Pas 
qual.  It  was  the  first  lover's  bouquet  Donna  had  ever 
received  and  she  bent  low  behind  the  cash  register  and 
kissed  the  foolish  little  card,  for  the  hand  of  her  Bob  had 
touched  it!  The  carnations  she  bore  home  to  the  Hat 


1 42  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Ranch  in  triumph,  and  two  weeks  later  when  Soft  Wind, 
a  stranger  to  romance,  threw  them  out,  Donna  wept. 

His  mission  of  love  finally  accomplished,  Bob  returned 
to  his  hotel  and  went  to  bed.  Late  that  afternoon  he 
arose,  much  refreshed,  dined  and  waited  around  the  lobby 
until  it  was  time  for  the  bus  to  leave  for  the  north-bound 
train. 

By  nine  o'clock  next  morning  he  was  in  San  Francisco. 
He  found  frugal  lodgings  in  a  third-class  hotel,  and  after 
writing  a  letter  to  Donna,  he  went  down  town,  purchased 
a  suit  of  ' '  store ' '  clothes,  and  spent  the  balance  of  the  day 
in  the  public  law  library. 

By  nightfall  Bob  had  saturated  his  brain  with  legal  lore 
bearing  on  every  feature  of  the  laws  governing  the  acqui 
sition  of  lands  in  the  public  domain,  and  was  satisfied  that 
the  hazy  plan  wrhich  he  had  outlined  was  not  only  within 
the  law,  but  really  did  have  some  vague  elements  of  feasi 
bility.  The  beauty  of  Bob's  plan,  however — the  part  that 
appealed  to  the  sporting  instinct  in  his  ultra-sporty  soul — 
lay  in  the  fact  that  it  would  cost  him  only  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  to  try!  Twelve  hundred  and  seventy-five  in  pre 
liminary  payments,  filing  fees  and  notary's  fees,  and  the 
balance  in  hotel  bills,  traveling  expenses,  etc. ;  but  as  an 
offset  to  his  comparatively  brilliant  prospects  of  going 
hungry  and  ragged  there  was  the  dim,  long  chance  that  he 
might  win  millions,  provided  his  venture  should  be  attended 
with  a  fair  percentage  of  supernatural  luck.  That  was  all 
Bob  McGraw  had  to  cheer  him  on  to  victory — a  million, 
to-one  chance;  yet,  such  was  his  peculiar  mental  make-up, 
the  terrific  odds  only  proved  an  added  attraction. 


CHAPTER  X 

NOW,  in  order  to  insure  even  perfunctory  understand 
ing  of  the  procedure  under  which  Bob  McGraw 
planned  to  acquire  his  lands,  and  to  give  an  inkling 
of  the  difficulties  confronting  him,  it  is  necessary  that  the 
reader  take  a  five-minute  course  in  land  law.  This  is 
regrettable,  for  it  is  a  dry  subject,  even  in  the  matter  of 
swamp  and  overflow  lands,  so  we  shall  endeavor  to  make 
the  course  as  brief  as  possible. 

Section  sixteen  and  thirty-six  in  each  township  through 
out  the  United  States  are  commonly  designated  as  "school 
lands,"  for  the  reason  that  the  Federal  government  has 
ceded  them  to  the  various  states,  to  be  sold  by  the  states 
for  the  use  and  benefit  of  their  public  school  funds.  School 
lands  are  open  to  purchase  by  any  citizen  of  the  United 
States,  and  in  the  case  of  California  school  lands  the  stat 
utory  price  is  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  per  acre. 

Now,  frequently  it  happens  that  by  reason  of  the  in 
clusion  of  certain  of  these  "school  lands"  in  a  Forest  Re 
serve,  a  Reclamation  District,  an  Indian  Reservation,  a 
National  Park,  a  Government  Military  Reservation  or  an 
old  Mexican  grant  (which  latter  condition  obtains  very 
frequently  in  California,  where  the  titles  to  many  huge 
grants  still  hold  since  the  days  of  the  Mexican  occupation) 
they  are  lost  to  the  state.  In  such  cases,  the  Federal  gov 
ernment  reimburses  the  state  suffering  such  loss  of  school 
lands,  by  extending  to  the  state  the  privilege  of  selecting 
from  the  public  lands  within  its  borders  an  acreage  cor 
responding  to  the  acreage  thus  lost  by  reason  of  inclusion 
in  a  restricted  area. 

The  lands  thus  selected  from  the  public  domain  in  ex 
change  for  school  lands  lost  to  the  state,  having  been  taken 

143 


144  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

in  lieu  thereof,  are  known  as  "state  lieu  lands,"  and  the 
lands  which  were  originally  state  school  lands  and  which 
have  been  lost  to  the  state  by  reason  of  their  inclusion  in 
some  restricted  area,  are  spoken  of  as  the  "basis"  for  the 
exchange. 

If  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  duly  qualified,  desires 
to  purchase  state  school  lands  at  the  statutory  price  of  one 
dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  per  acre,  he  must  file  his  appli 
cation  for  a  section,  or  such  fraction  thereof  as  he  may  de 
sire,  or  be  entitled  to  purchase,  with  the  surveyor-general 
of  the  state,  who  is  also  ex-officio  registrar  of  the  State 
Land  Office.  If  there  are  no  school  lands  open  for  pur 
chase  at  the  time,  naturally  they  cannot  be  purchased ;  but 
if,  on  the  contrary,  the  state  owns  many  sections  of  school 
lands  which  have  been  included  in  restricted  areas,  the 
surveyor-general  will  select  for  the  applicant  from  the  pub 
lic  domain  such  state  lieu  lands  as  the  purchaser  may  desire. 
However,  no  such  selection  of  lieu  lands  can  be  made  by 
the  surveyor-general  unless  there  is  a  corresponding  loss 
of  school  lands  as  the  basis  for  the  selection. 

Now,  this  basis  constituted  the  horns  of  a  dilemma  upon 
which  Bob  McGraw  had  once  found  himself  impaled  in  an 
attempt  to  purchase  three  hundred  and  twenty  acres  of 
timbered  land  in  the  public  domain — land  which  he  knew 
would,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  become  very  valuable. 
Bob 's  restless  nature  would  not  permit  of  his  taking  up  the 
claim  under  the  homestead  law,  for  that  would  entail  resi 
dence  on  the  property  for  more  years  than  Bob  could 
afford  to  remain  away  from  his  beloved  desert;  hence  he- 
decided  to  acquire  it  by  purchase  as  state  lieu  land  at  a 
time  when  he  knew  there  were  no  available  school  lands 
lying  outside  restricted  areas.  Mr.  McGraw  saw  an  at 
tractive  profit  in  purchasing  at  one  dollar  and  twenty-five 
cents  per  acre  three  hundred  and  twenty  acres  of  timber 
worth  fully  fifty  dollars  per  acre. 

Thrilled,  therefore,  with  most  pleasurable  anticipations, 
Mr.  McGraw  had  duly  filed  his  application  for  purchase  of 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  145 

this  particular  half-section,  under  Section  3495  of  the  Po 
litical  Code  of  the  State  of  California.  He  knew  that, 
•wing  to  the  recent  extension  of  the  Forest  Reserve  policy, 
thousands  of  acres  of  school  lands  had  recently  been  lost 
to  the  state,  and  that  therefore,  under  the  law,  there  could 
be  no  legal  hindrance  to  his  purchase  of  lien  lands — par 
ticularly  in  view  of  the  fact  that  there  were  several  hun 
dred  thousand  acres  of  government  lands  within  the  state 
from  which  to  make  his  selection! 

To  Bob's  surprise,  his  application  for  the  purchase  of 
lieu  lands  had  been  denied,  under  a  ruling  of  the  State 
Land  Office — a  ruling  having  absolutely  no  foundation  un 
der  any  section  of  legislative  procedure — which  stipulated 
that  before  the  State  Land  Office  could  receive  or  grant  an 
application  for  the  purchase  of  lieu  lands,  the  intending 
purchaser  must  first  designate  the  basis  of  corresponding 
loss  to  the  state  of  school  lands. 

''Bless  my  innocent  soul,"  Mr.  McGraw  had  murmured 
at  the  time, ' '  what  a  curious  rule !  I  had  a  notion  that  that 
was  the  surveyor-general's  business,  not  mine.  I  had  a 
notion  that  he  was  paid  for  compiling  that  information  for 
the  people,  and  not  forcing  them  to  compile  it  for  them 
selves.  ' ' 

However,  in  no  whit  daunted  by  the  prospect  of  a  little 
research  work,  Bob  had  had  recourse  to  the  land  maps  in 
the  office.  To  his  surprise  and  chagrin  he  discovered  that 
as  fast  as  he  brought  to  light  a  "basis"  for  his  selection, 
he  was  informed,  after  some  perfunctory  investigation  by 
!the  employes  of  the  State  Land  Office  that  these  bases  had 
already  been  used!  Eventually  the  light  of  reason  began 
to  sift  through  the  fog  of  despair  and  suddenly  Bob  had  a 
rery  brilliant  idea. 

"Euchred!"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "I  do  not  happen 
to  possess  the  requisite  amount  of  inside  information  and 
I  have  no  means  of  obtaining  it  until  I  ascertain  where  it 
is  for  sale !  The  purpose  of  this  ridiculous  rule  is  to  keep 
the  rabble  out  of  the  public  domain  until  some  middleman 


I46  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

gets  a  profit  out  of  his  information.  I'll  just  give  up  for 
the  time  being  and  await  results." 

Bob  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  "Within  a  week  he  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  an  alleged  land  attorney,  offering  to 
locate  him  on  state  lieu  lands  worth  fifty  dollars  per  acre, 
in  return  for  the  trifling  payment  of  one  dollar  and  twenty- 
five  cents  per  acre  to  the  state  and  the  further  trifling  pay 
ment  of  ten  dollars  per  acre  to  the  purveyor  of  information 
respecting  the  necessary  basis  for  the  exchange! 

At  the  time  this  procedure  had  struck  Bob  as  rather 
humorous.  He  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  genius  wherever 
he  saw  it,  and  even  this  exhibition  of  evil  genius,  which 
so  adroitly  deprived  him  of  his  constitutional  right  to  the 
public  domain  without  the  payment  of  a  middleman's  profit, 
rather  aroused  his  admiration.  At  the  time  he  was  not 
financially  equipped  to  argue  the  matter  calmly,  clearly — 
and  judicially,  and  he  had  no  money  to  pay  for  "inside 
information."  He  only  knew  that  the  rule  requiring  ap 
plicants  to  designate  the  basis  was  an  office-made  rule  and 
had  no  place  in  Mr.  McGraw's  copy  of  the  Political  Code 
of  the  State  of  California. 

And  the   star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth  wave, 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  knave 

caroled  Bob,  and  charged  the  matter  up  to  experience,  not, 
however,  without  first  storing  the  incident  away  in  his 
nimble  brain  for  future  reference. 

Now,  while  recovering  from  his  wound  at  the  Hat  Ranch, 
Bob  had  brooded  much  over  the  difficulties  which  would 
without  doubt  assail  him  in  his  attempt  to  acquire  his 
lands  in  Owens  river  valley;  also  he  had  figured  out  to  his 
own  satisfaction  the  exact  method  by  which  the  land- 
grabber  was  enabled  to  grab ;  or,  provided  the  grabber  did 
not  care  to  retain  his  grab,  how  he  could  nevertheless 
derive  tremendous  profits  from  his  control  of  certain  offi 
cials  in  the  State  Land  Office.  Therefore,  after  his  day 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  147 

spent  in  the  public  law  library  in  San  Francisco,  Bob's 
brain  was  primed  with  every  detail  of  the  land  laws,  and 
had  confirmed  his  original  interpretation  of  the  land-grab 
bers'  clever  schemes  to  defraud.  However,  not  satisfied 
with  his  own  opinion,  he  decided  to  seek  a  little  expert 
advice  on  the  subject,  and  to  that  end  he  went  the  follow 
ing  morning  to  his  father's  old  friend  and  his  own  former 
employer,  Homer  Dunstan,  the  corporation  attorney,  whom 
he  knew  to  be  an  authority  on  land  law. 

He  sent  in  his  name  by  Dunstan 's  stenographer,  and 
presently  Dunstan  appeared  in  the  reception  room.  He 
welcomed  his  old  friend's  failure  of  a  son  in  a  manner 
which  bespoke  forced  heartiness,  for  old  sake's  sake,  and 
a  preconceived  impression  that  the  ill-dressed,  pale  Bob 
McGraw  had  come  to  him  to  borrow  money.  They  shook 
hands  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  each  other. 

"Glad  to  see  you  again,  Bobby,  after  all  these  years. 
You've  grown.  Where  in  the  world  have  you  been  rang 
ing  since  I  saw  you  last?"  Homer  Dunstan  was  forcing 
an  interest  in  Bob  McGraw  which  he  was  far  from  feeling, 
and  Bob  was  not  insensible  to  this. 

He  grinned.  ''Drifting,  Mr.  Dunstan — just  drifting. 
Mines  and  mining — mostly  the  latter;  there's  a  difference, 
you  know.  It's  my  inheritance,  Mr.  Dunstan,  despite  all 
poor  old  dad  did  to  make  me  follow  in  your  footsteps.  So 
I've  quit  bucking  the  inevitable  and  turned  wanderer.  Do 
you  happen  to  be  engaged  with  a  client  just  now?" 

"Well — no,  not  just  this  minute.  Perhaps  if  you'll 
call—" 

"No,  I  will  not  call  later.  My  motto  is  'Do  it  now/ 
Seeing  that  you're  regularly  in  the  business  of  dispensing 
legal  advice,  I'd  like  to  take  advantage  of  the  ever-active 
present. ' '  He  pulled  from  his  hip  pocket  a  tattered  wallet 
and  produced  a  hundred-dollar  bill.  "Mr.  Dunstan,  how 
much  expert  legal  advice  can  you  give  me  for  that?" 

Dunstan  3s  manner  underwent  a  swift  metamorphosis. 


148  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

' '  Oh,  put  back  your  money,  boy.  I  have  an  hour  to  spara 
this  morning,  and  for  your  father's  sake  my  advice  to  you 
will  always  be  given  gratis  on  Mondays  and  Fridays." 

"Glad  I  called  on  Friday,  even  if  it  is  an  unlucky  day. 
Your  generosity  knocks  that  superstition  galley-west,  so 
I'll  take  you  at  your  word.  Also  I  will  gladly  retain  this 
century.  To  tell  the  truth  I  have  urgent  need  of  it  for 
other  things,"  and  he  followed  Dunstan  into  the  latter '« 
private  office.  Dunstan  indicated  an  easy  chair  and  pre 
sented  his  ex-assistant  with  a  fifty-cent  cigar. 

"Well,  Bobby,  my  boy,  what's  on  your  soul  this  mornv 
ing?" 

"A  very  heavy  weight,  Mr.  Dunstan.  Desert  land. 
Acres  and  acres  of  it." 

"Any  water?" 

"Not  yet." 

"Any  prospects?" 

"I  have  it  bottled  up,  and  it's  all  mine.  Now  I  want 
the  land." 

"Well?" 

"I  want  to  acquire  thirty -two  thousand  acres  of  state 
lieu  land  in  Owens  river  valley,  Mr.  Dunstan. ' ' 

"You  cannot  do  it." 

"Well,  suppose  there  was  a  rule  in  the  State  Land  Office 
which  forced  prospective  purchasers  of  state  lieu  lands  to 
first  designate  the  basis  of  exchange  before  their  applica 
tions  would  be  received  r.nd  filed.  Suppose  also  that  you 
wanted  to  turn  crook  and  steal  thirty-two  thousand  acres 
of  lieu  land,  despite  this  rule.  How  would  you  go  about 
it?" 

The  lawyei  glanced  at  him  keenly.  "See  here,  son,  I 
don't  give  that  kind  of  advice  to  young  fellows — or  old 
fellows  for  that  matter — even  for  money.  I'm  an  honest 
corporation  attorney,  and  stealing  the  public  domain  is 
illegal — and  very,  very  risky." 

"Don't  worry,  sir.    When  I  have  your  advice,  I  will 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  149 

not  follow  it.  Tell  me  how  you  would  steal  this  land.  It's 
a  hypothetical  question." 

Dunstan  smiled.  "That's  unfair — attacking  a  lawyer 
with  a  hypothetical  question.  It's  rather  hoisting  him  on 
his  own  petard,  as  it  were.  However,  I'll  answer  it.  In 
the  first  place,  if  I  planned  to  go  into  the  business  of  loot 
ing  the  public  domain  I  would  conspire  with  some  prom 
inent  official  of  the  State  Land  Office  to  institute  such  a 
rule." 

"Good.  Somebody  conspired  with  a  surveyor-general 
forty  years  ago  and  had  such  a  rule  instituted  in  the  State 
Land  Office.  The  state  legislature,  however,  has  never 
been  asked  to  confirm  that  rule  and  spread  it  in  black  and 
white  on  the  statute  books. ' ' 

"Well,  having  had  such  a  rule  instituted"  continued 
Dunstan,  ' '  I  would  then  have  the  public  at  a  disadvantage. 
Through  my  friend  in  the  land  office  I  would  have  primary 
access  to  the  field  notes  of  the  chief  of  staff  in  the  field, 
and  I  would  have  advance  information  of  where  losses 
of  school  lands  were  soon  to  occur.  In  other  words  I  would 
be  in  position  to  designate  every  basis  of  exchange  of  lost 
school  lands  for  lieu  lands,  and  the  public  would  not.  I'd 
give  some  weak  brother  say  one  hundred  dollars  to  file  on 
some  lieu  lands  and  use  the  basis  which  I  would  designate, 
and  in  the  meantime  I  would  hustle  around,  secure  in  the 
knowledge  that  I  had  the  basis  tied  up.  It  would  appear 
of  record  as  used  in  the  state  land  office.  When  I  had 
secured  a  customer  for  the  lieu  land  I  had  tied  up  with  my 
dummy  applicant,  the  dummy  would  abandon  his  filing 
in  favor  of  my  client,  I  would  collect  the  difference  be 
tween  the  statutory  cost  of  the  land  and  the  price  my  client 
paid  me  for  it,  whack  up  with  my  friends  in  the  land  office 
and  consider  myself  a  smart  business  man." 

Bob  nodded.  "I  figured  it  out  that  way  also.  Now, 
suppose  an  outsider — myself,  for  instance — succeeded  in 
getting  his  application  filed  without  designating  the  basis 


150  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

for  the  exchange  of  lands,  and  the  surveyor-general  has 
issued  me  a  receipt  for  my  preliminary  payment  of  twenty 
dollars  on  account  of  the  purchase  of  the  lieu  land — what 
then!  When  he  discovered  I  was  an  outsider,  could  he 
reject  my  application?" 

' '  Well,  he  might  try,  Bob.  But  with  his  receipt  in  your 
possession,  that  would  be  bona-fide  evidence  of  an  implied 
contract  of  bargain  and  sale  between  you  and  the  State 
of  California.  You  could  institute  a  mandamus  suit  and 
force  him  to  make  the  selection  of  lieu  lands  for  you. ' ' 

"I  figured  it  out  that  way"  said  Bob  musingly.  "The 
only  rift  in  the  surveyor-general's  lute  is  the  fact  that 
•while  he  has  never  yet  bumped  up  against  the  right  man, 
he  is  due  to  so  bump  in  the  very  near  future.  However, 
Mr.  Dunstan,  I  do  not  think  our  present  surveyor-general 
is  doing  business  with  the  land  ring.  I  think  the  guilty 
man  is  one  of  his  deputies  through  whom  ninety-nine  per 
cent  of  the  office  routine  is  transacted,  and  the  land-grab 
bers  have  him  under  their  thumbs." 

"Then  why  not  go  direct  to  the  surveyor-general  with 
your  troubles?"  queried  Dunstan. 

Bob  shook  his  head.  "No  hope  in  that  direction.  The 
office  records  show  all  bases  used,  and  the  deputy — the 
surveyor-general,  in  fact — can  find  defense  for  their  arbi 
trary  ruling  in  the  matter  of  designation  of  the  basis — by 
claiming  that  their  office  force  is  not  large  enough  to  per 
mit  of  such  extended  search  of  the  records;  hence  they 
turn  their  records  over  to  the  applicant  of  lieu  lands  and 
let  him  search  for  himself.  The  surveyor-general,  being 
honest,  will  be  hard  to  convince  that  his  deputy  is  not — 
particularly  since  the  deputy  is  probably  an  old  friend. ' ' 

"It's  a  peculiar  condition"  said  Dunstan.  "The  worst 
that  can  happen  to  the  deputy  is  to  lose  his  job,  the  dummy 
entryman  can  abandon  his  filing  at  any  time  he  may  elect, 
and  there  is  no  law  making  it  a  felony  to  accept  money  in 
exchange  for  information — if  you  do  not  state  where  you 
acquired  it.  How  are  you  going  to  stop  this  looting?" 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  151 

''I'm  not  quite  certain  that  I  want  it  stopped — right 
away"  said  Bob,  and  grinned  his  lazy  inscrutable  smile. 
''I  want  to  do  a  little  grabbing  myself,  only  I  want  to  do 
it  legally.  I  have  a  scheme  worked  out  to  do  this,  but 
I  want  you  to  confirm  it.  Just  now  you  schemed  out  a 
plan  to  get  public  lands  illegally,  and  you  ought  to  be  able 
to  scheme  a  plan  to  get  them  legally,  operating  on  the  state 
lieu  land  basis.  I  want  thirty-two  thousand  acres  of  desert 
land  and  the  law  only  allows  me  a  selection  of  six  hundred! 
and  forty.  I  want  to  get  this  thirty-two  thousand  acres 
without  corrupting  any  weakling  in  the  employ  of  the 
state,  without  paying  money  to  dummy  entrymen,  with 
out  designating  the  basis  for  the  selection  of  my  fifty 
sections,  without  antagonizing  the  land  ring  and  without 
disturbing  that  rule  of  the  State  Land  Office.  Can  it  be 
done?" 

Dunstan  frowned  at  his  visitor.  "Of  course  it  cannot 
be  done"  he  retorted  sharply.  "Why  do  you  ask  me  such 
fool  questions?" 

"Because  it  might  be  done — with  a  little  luck  and  some 
money. ' ' 

Dunstan  shook  his  head.  "There  is  only  one  way  for 
you  to  acquire  desert  land,  Bob,  without  disturbing  the 
rule  in  that  land  office.  You'll  have  to  file  on  a  half- 
section  only,  under  the  Desert  Land  Law  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  paying  twenty-five  cents  per  acre  down 
at  the  time  of  filing  your  application.  Then  you  must 
place  one-eighth  of  it  under  cultivation  and  produce  a 
reasonably  profitable  crop.  You  must  spend  not  less  than 
three  dollars  per  acre  in  improvements,  and  convince  the 
government  that  the  entire  tract,  if  not  actually  under  irri 
gation,  is  at  least  susceptible  to  it.  That  accomplished, 
you  can  pay  the  balance  of  one  dollar  per  acre  due  on  the 
land,  prove  up  and  secure  a  patent.  That's  the  only  way 
you  can  secure  desert  lands  without  doing  some  of  the 
things  yon  wish  to  avoid  doing. ' ' 

Bob  shook  his  head.     "Too  slow,  too  expensive  anl  gen- 


152  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

erally  irritating.  Why,  I'd  have  to  live  on  the  land  until 
I  could  prove  up ! " 

"Well,  then,  Bobby  boy,  put  your  scruples  behind  you 
and  pay  somebody  to  live  on  it  and  prove  up  for  you. ' ' 

"No  use"  mourned  Bob.  "I  can  see  myself  at  the  head 
of  a  long  procession  of  desert-land  enthusiasts,  bound  for 
McNeill's  Island,  and  I'm  too  young  to  waste  my  youth 
making  little  rocks  out  of  big  ones.  Even  if  the  attorney- 
general  didn  't  have  me  on  the  carpet,  I  'd  have  to  ride  herd 
on  one  hundred  dummy  entrymen  with  a  Gatling  gun,  or 
else  equip  each  one  with  an  Oregon  boot.  My  land  lies 
in  a  devil's  country  and  I  don't  think  they'd  stay.  You 
see,  Mr.  Dunstan,  were  it  not  for  that  confounded  rule  I 
mentioned,  I  could  purchase  a  full  section  of  desert  land 
in  the  public  domain,  under  the  provisions  of  the  state  lieu 
land  law.  Under  that  law  the  land  would  only  cost  me 
one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  per  acre,  while  under  the 
United  States  Desert  Land  Laws  it  would  cost  me  not  less 
than  four  dollars  and  a  quarter  per  acre.  Too  much  money 
for  B'ob  McGraw.  Now,  Owens  river  valley  is  pure  desert, 
Mr.  Dunstan,  and  it  lies,  or  will  lie,  very  shortly,  in  the 
public  domain.  It  is  not  agricultural  land,  neither  is  it 
coal-bearing  nor  timbered,  so  I  can  purchase  it  by  the  full 
section,  which  will  only  require  fifty  entrymen.  Besides, 
there  have  never  been  any  entries  made  heretofore  in  the 
section  of  the  valley  that  I  have  my  eye  on,  and  I'd  like 
to  get  my  land  in  one  strip  without  having  it  checker- 
boarded  with  adverse  holdings." 

Dunstan  smiled  a  little  wearily.  "But  we're  not  getting 
anywhere,  Bob,  my  boy.  You're  simply  wasting  your 
breath.  Just  what  nebulous  idea  for  the  acquisition  of 
this  desert  land  have  you  floating  around  in  that  red  head 
of  yours?  Now,  then,  proposition  Number  One." 

"I  cannot  oppose  that  rule.  I  must  sneak  my  applica 
tions  in  and  get  them  filed  and  secure  a  receipt,  when  I 
will  be  in  position  to  force  the  attorney-general  to  make 
the  selections  for  my  clients." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  153 

U0h,  they're  clients,  eh?"  said  Dunstan.  "I  thought 
they  were  to  be  dummy  entrymen." 

"They  are — but  they  don't  know  it — and  not  knowing 
it,  they  will  not  be  committing  a  crime. ' ' 

"Ignorance  of  the  law  excuses  nobody,  Robert.  But 
proceed  with  proposition  Number  Two." 

"My  clients  are  to  be  paupers — so  I  must  pay  for  the 
land  which  they  will  file  upon.  Hence  I  shall  need  money. ' ' 

Homer  Dunstan  figured  rapidly  on  a  desk  pad. 

Notarial  fees  on  fifty  applications  @  $     .50  $    25.00 
Filing  fees       "      "  "          @      5.00      250.00 

First  payment         "  "          @    20.00    1000.00 


Total,    $1275.00 

"It  will  take  $1275  to  start  you  off,  Bob,  presuming,  for 
the  sake  of  argument,  that  your  filings  are  accepted — which, 
of  course,  they  will  not  be." 

"Oh,  I  have  the  twelve  seventy-five,  all  right"  said  Bob 
confidently. 

"Well,  after  your  applications  are  passed  to  patent,  you 
will  have  to  put  up  $780  more  for  each  section,  or  $39,000 
in  all.  Have  you  provided  for  this  additional  sum?" 

' '  Why,  no  sir.     I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  lend  it  to  me. ' ' 

"Indeed!  Well,  assume  that  I'm  that  soft-headed, 
Bobby,  and  proceed  to  proposition  Number  Three." 

"Well,  under  the  law,  my  applications  must  be  acted 
upon  within  six  months  after  filing.  The  surveyor-general 
must  approve  or  disapprove  them  within  six  months,  and 
if  he  approves  them — " 

"Which  he  will  not"  promptly  interjected  Dunstan. 

"I'll  sue  him  and  make  him.  Well,  when  the  applica 
tions  are  sent  on  to  the  Commissioner  of  the  General  Land 
Office  at  Washington  for  his  ratification  of  the  exchange 
of  the  lieu  lands,  they  may  be  hung  up  there  a  long  time- 
years,  perhaps — 

"Certainly.     The  land  ring  will  see  to  that." 


154  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Then,  don't  you  see,  Mr.  Dunstan"  said  Bob,  bright 
ening,  "I'll  have  lots  of  time  to  get  that  balance  of  $39,000 
together. ' ' 

"I'm  so  glad"  said  Homer  Dunstan.  "Then  I  won't 
have  to  lend  you  the  money  after  all.  Well,  when  you're 
an  old  man,  Bobby,  and  that  red  head  of  yours  is  snowy 
white,  your  lands  will  be  passed  to  patent  and — " 

"But  the  peculiar  thing  about  this  operation,  Mr.  Dun 
stan,  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  land  ring  will  readily  ascer 
tain  my  financial  condition,  and  that  of  my  clients — " 

' '  In  which  event,  my  dear  boy,  your  lands  will  be  rushed 
to  patent  right  away,  you  will  be  notified  that  they  are 
waiting  for  you  to  pay  the  balance  due  on  them  within 
thirty  days,  and  if  at  the  end  of  thirty  days  you  do  not 
pay  that  $39,000,  your  applications  lapse  automatically  and 
your  initial  payment  will  be  forfeited  to  the  state  as  liqui 
dated  damages." 

"I  fear  that  is  just  what  will  happen.  That  is  why  I 
want  to  know  if  you  are  prepared  to  lend  me  $39,000  to 
call  their  bluff.  I  will  assign  you  a  half  interest  in  a  cer 
tain  water-right  which  I  possess,  as  security  for  the  ad 
vance.  My  water-right  is  worth  millions." 

"It  will  have  to  be,  if  I  am  to  consider  your  suggestion 
seriously.  Get  your  fifty  applications  passed  to  patent 
first,  however.  Then  see  me,  and  I'll  lend  you  the  money 
you  require,  provided  I  find  upon  investigation  that  the 
security  is  ample.  Is  your  water-right  developed  ? ' ' 

"No,  sir.     I've  just  filed  on  it." 

Dunstan  permitted  himself  a  very  thin  smile.  "You're 
your  father's  son,  Bob.  You  see  visions  and  you'll  die 
poor.  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  you're  honest,  but  as 
firmly  convinced  that  you're  chasing  a  will-o'-the-wisp — 
so  I  hold  out  very  little  hope  for  you  in  the  matter  of  that 
loan." 

"But  my  -water-right  is  good  for  ten  times  the  amount" 
pleaded  Bob  desperately,  and  produced  T.  Morgan  Carey's 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  155 

tetter  to  bolster  up  his  argument.  "All  I  need  is  money  to 
develop  it." 

"And  in  the  meantime  it's  worth  ten  cents.  Bob,  you 
weary  me." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir.  You're  the  only  human  being  in  this 
world  that  I  can  come  to  for  help;  and  I  never  ask  help 
of  any  man,  unless  I  can  pay  him  well  for  his  trouble. 
And  I  think  I  can  pay  you  well — I  know  I  can." 

Dunstan  eyed  him  more  kindly.  "Your  father  was  a 
visionary,  Bob,  only  he  looked  the  part.  You  do  not.  I 
have  difficulty  in  convincing  myself  that  you're  insane; 
but  surely,  Bob,  you  must  admit  that  no  sane  man  would 
seriously  consider  your  proposition.  Tell  me  how  you  ex 
pect  to  induce  fifty  paupers  to  apply  for  land  for  you,  to 
do  it  in  good  faith  and  be  within  the  law,  and  yet  hand  the 
land  over  to  you.  Dang  it,  boy,  the  thing's  impossible. 
You  can't  do  it." 

"I  can"  replied  Bob  McGraw  doggedly.     "I  can." 

"All  right  then,  you  do  it.  Put  that  trick  over,  Bob, 
and  I'll  take  off  my  hat  to  you." 

' '  You  may  keep  your  hat  on  your  head.     I  want  $39,000. ' ' 

"Do  the  impossible  and  I'll  give  it  to  you — without  se 
curity." 

* '  Taken ' '  said  Bob  McGraw.  "  1 11  hold  you  to  that,  Mr. 
Dunstan.  I'll  simply  round  up  fifty  paupers,  or  their 
equivalent,  with  a  constitutional  right  to  purchase  state 
lieu  land  and  permit  me  to  pay  for  it  for  them.  Then 
after  I  have  secured  the  land  for  them  I  will  buy  it  back 
from  them — " 

Homer  Dunstan  roared  with  laughter.  He  pointed  a 
bony  finger  at  Bob  McGraw. 

"Young  man,  the  right  to  purchase  state  lieu  land  is  a 
strictly  personal  one  and  it  is  unlawful  for  one  person  to 
purchase  for  another.  Of  course  you  can  buy  it  back, 
Bob,  but  the  attorney-general  will  have  a  leg-iron  on  you 
"before  the  ink  is  dry  on  your  check.  Transfer  of  title  un- 


156  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

der  such  circumstances  would  be  looked  upon  as  bona-fido 
evidence  of  fraud,  unless  your  clients  could  prove  conclu 
sively  that  they  had  parted  with  their  lands  for  a  valuable 
Consideration — ' ' 

Bob  McGraw  in  turn  pointed  his  finger  at  Dunstan. 
4 'Ah,  that's  the  weak  point  in  the  law,  Mr.  Dunstan"  he 
exulted.  ' '  A  valuable  consideration.  I  can  beat  that.  I  '11 
give  my  clients  ten  dollars  per  acre  for  lands  which  cost 
them  one  dollar  and  a  quarter,  and  there  isn't  a  lawyer  in 
the  land — yourself  included — who  wouldn't  consider  that 
a  valuable  consideration." 

"McGraw,"  said  Dunstan  rising  impatiently,  "you're  a 
consummate  ass!  Where  the  devil  do  you  expect  to  get 
$320,000  to  buy  their  land  from  them  ?  I  *:'ippose  you  think 
I'll  help  you  with  that,  also.  Your  stupidity  annoys  me, 
Robert.  Damme,  sir,  you're  light  in  the  upper  story." 

Bob  McGraw  laughed  aloud.  "I  won't  need  it.  All  I 
shall  ever  ask  of  you  is  that  first  $39,000.  The  water  I 
have  bottled  up  in  the  Sierra  will  make  the  land  worth 
three  hundred  dollars  an  acre.  Don't  you  see  where  I  can 
afford  to  pay  ten  dollars  per  acre  for  it?" 

"You  can't  do  business  on  gab,  McGraw.  Money  makes 
the  mare  go,  and  you  cannot  induce  fifty  men  to  waste 
their  constitutional  right  to  lieu  land  on  your  bare  word 
that  your  water-right  will  make  a  desert  valuable.  You'll 
have  to  take  'em  down  there,  at  your  own  expense,  and 
show  'em — " 

"Old  maids  in  New  England  buy  stocks  in  wild-cat 
prospect  holes  in  Nevada.  Do  the  promoters  have  to  bring 
them  out  to  see  the  holes?" 

"Nobody  but  a  fool  or  an  idiot  would  listen  to  your 
crazy  proposition,  and  fools  and  idiots  are  not  qualified 
under  the  law  to  do  anything  except  just  live  and  try  to 
avoid  being  run  over  by  automobiles.  But  granted  that 
you  can  do  all  these  things,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
your  land  when  you  get  it?" 

Bob  McGraw  stood  up  and  leaned  both  brown  hands  on 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  157 

the  edge  of  Homer  Dunstan's  desk.  The  genial  mocking 
little  smile  was  gone  from  his  face  now,  for  Dunstan's 
query  had  brought  him  back  from  the  land  of  improbabili 
ties  into  the  realm  of  his  most  ardent  day-dream.  He 
raised  his  hand  in  unconscious  imitation  of  every  zealot 
that  had  preceded  him  down  the  ages;  the  light  of  the 
visionary  who  already  sees  the  fulfillment  of  his  dreams 
blazed  in  his  big  kind  brown  eyes. 

' '  I  'm  going  to  give  it  to  the  lowly  of  the  earth ' '  he  baicL 
"I'm  going  to  subdivide  it  into  ten-acre  farms,  with  a  per 
petual  water-right  with  every  farm.  I'm  going  to  build 
a  town  with  a  business  block  up  each  side  of  the  main 
street.  I  'm  going  to  install  a  hydro-electric  plant  that  will 
carry  a  load  of  juice  sufficient  to  light  a  city  of  a  million 
inhabitants.  I'm  going  to  reclaim  the  desert  and  make  it 
beautiful,  and  I'm  going  to  have  free  light  and  free  fuel 
and  free  local  telephone  service  and  free  water  and,  by  God ! 
free  people  to  live  in  my  free  country.  I'm  going  to 
gather  up  a  few  thousand  of  the  lowly  and  the  hopeless  in 
the  sweat-shops  of  the  big  cities  and  bring  them  back  to  the 
land!  Back  to  my  land  and  my  water  that  I'm  going  to 
hold  in  trust  for  them,  the  poor  devils !  Back  where  there 
won't  be  any  poverty — where  ten  acres  of  Inyo  desert  with 
Inyo  water  on  it  will  mean  a  fortune  to  every  poor  family 
I  plant  in  my  desert." 

"Why?"'  demanded  Homer  Dunstan  smiling. 

"Why?"  Bob  McGraw  echoed  the  attorney's  query. 
He  gazed  at  Dunstan  stupidly.  "Why,  what  a  damn-fool 
j  question  for  you  to  ask,  Mr.  Dunstan !  Isn  't  it  right  that 
we  should  look  to  the  comfort  of  our  helpless  fellow-man? 
Isn't  it  right  that  we  strong  men  should  give  of  our  strength 
to  the  weak  ?  WTiat  in  blue  blazes  are  we  living  for  in  this 
enlightened  day  and  generation  if  it  isn't  to  do  something 
that 's  worth  while,  and  to  leave  behind  us  at  the  last  some 
thing  that  hasn't  got  the  American  eagle  stamped  on  it 
with  the  motto  'In  God  We  Trust.'  Ugh!  How  the  good 
Lord  must  hate  us  for  that  copyrighted  chunk  of  sophistry ! 


158  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

It's  a  wonder  He  doesn't  send  His  angels  down  to  make 
us  tend  to  business." 

''Well,  I'm  not  going  to  worry  about  it"  retorted  Dun- 
stan  crisply.  "I'm  too  busy,  and  you're  Johnny  Mc 
Graw 's  boy  Bob,  so  we  won't  quarrel  about  it.  Good 
luck  to  you,  old  man.  Get  all  the  fun  out  of  life  that  you 
possibly  can — in  your  own  way — and  when  you  get  your 
land  and  can  show  me,  I'll  take  a  $39,000  mortgage  on  it, 
at  eight  per  cent.  Now,  good-by  and  get  out.  I'm  a  busy 
man." 

Bob  McGraw  took  up  his  big  wide  hat,  shook  hands  with 
his  father's  old  friend,  and  with  heightened  color  with 
drew.  Out  in  the  hall  he  paused  long  enough  to  swear  ? 
then,  as  suddenly,  the  old  mocking  cheerful  inscrutable 
smile  came  sneaking  back  to  his  sun-tanned  face,  and  he 
was  at  peace  again.  He  had  suddenly  remembered  that  he 
was  Bob  McGraw,  and  he  had  faith  in  himself.  He  thought 
of  Donna,  waiting  for  him  in  lonely  San  Pasqual ;  he  raised 
his  hard  brown  fist,  and  in  unconscious  imitation  of  Paul 
Jones  he  cried  aloud: 

"I  have  not  yet  begun  to  fight!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  must  have  been  a  sublime  faith  in  that  homely  adage 
that  there  are  more  ways  of  killing  a  cat  than  by  chok 
ing  him  with  butter  which  moved  Bob  McGraw  to 
cudgel  his  nimble  brain  until  he  had  discovered  exactly 
how  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to  accomplish  legally  what 
every  freebooter  with  an  appraising  eye  on  the  public  de- 
main  is  troubled  to  accomplish  illegally.  The  sole  differ 
ence  between  Bob's  projected  course  and  that  of  hia  com 
petitors'  would  be  a  slightly  lessened  profit;  but  after 
inventorying  a  free  and  easy  conscience  and  posting  it  to 
the  credit  side  of  his  profit  and  loss  account,  Bob  knew 
that  this  apparent  difference  would  dwindle  until  it  would 
be  scarcely  perceptible. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
following  his  interview  with  Homer  Dunstan,  Bob  set  to 
work  to  draw  up  the  circular  letter  and  contract  form  to 
be  submitted  later  to  his  prospective  clients.  In  about 
fifteen  minutes  he  had  outlined  the  following : 

THE  PROPOSITION  IS  THIS 

I  have  information  of  some  state  lieu  lands  which  I  believe 
.can  be  taken  up  under  the  State  laws  at  $1.25  per  acre.  The 
Tight  to  buy  them  will  very  probably  have  to  be  established 
and  enforced  by  legal  proceedings. 

Now,  this  right  to  purchase  state  lieu  lands  is  a  limited  per 
sonal  right.  (See  Political  Code,  Section  3495,  et  seq.)  I  am 
•willing  to  try  to  make  YOUR  right  good  to  a  tract  of  this  land, 
under  the  conditions  of  the  contract  herewith.  I  am  willing1 
to  stand  the  expenses  of  suit  to  enforce  your  right,  and  to  ad- 
yance  for  you  the  legal  fees  and  the  first  preliminary  payment 
to  the  state,  on  the  chance  of  being  able  to  secure  you  some* 

159 


160  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

thing  sufficiently  valuable  to  justify  you  in  paying  me  the  fee 
provided  for  in  the  contract.  Read  the  contract  carefully  and 
note  that  you  retain  the  right  to  cancel  it  and  relieve  yourself 
of  all  obligation  in  the  matter  by  abandoning  your  claim  to  the 
land. 

READ  THE  CONTRACT  CAREFULLY  BEFORE  YOU 
SIGN  IT.  BE  SURE  YOU  UNDERSTAND  JUST  WHAT 
YOU  ARE  DOING. 

ROBERT  McGRAW. 

"That  looks  like  fair  warning"  mused  Mr.  McGraw,  aa 
he  reread  this  document.  "I  defy  any  man  to  look  be 
tween  the  lines  and  scent  my  hocus-pocus  game." 

Bob  next  proceeded  to  draw  up  the  contract.  It  was  a 
simple  contract^  framed  in  language  that  could  not  fail 
of  comprehension  by  the  dullest  mind.  For  and  in  con 
sideration  of  the  sum  of  one  dollar,  the  receipt  whereof 
was  duly  acknowledged,  Bob  McGraw  agreed  to  furnish 
his  applicants  for  land  with  certain  valuable  information, 
whereby  the  applicant  would  be  enabled  to  file,  or  tender 
his  application  for,  certain  state  lieu  lands,  "bounded  and 
particularly  described  as  follows:"  (Here  he  left  a  space 
sufficient  for  the  insertion,  at  a  later  date,  of  the  exact 
description  of  the  lands  he  desired;  the  descriptions  he 
would  glean  from  maps  of  the  valley  on  sale  in  the  United' 
States  Land  Office  in  San  Francisco.) 

He  agreed  to  tender  the  application  of  his  client  to  the 
State  Land  Office  and  to  conduct,  at  his  own  expense,  any 
litigation  that  might  arise  or  become  necessary  to  estab 
lish  the  right  of  his  client  to  purchase  the  land  from  the 
state;  stipulating,  however,  that  he  (McGraw)  should  be 
the  sole  judge  of  the  necessity  for  such  litigation.  He 
agreed  to  pay  the  filing  fees  and  the  first  payment  on  the 
land,  required  at  the  time  of  filing  the  application,  and  to 
represent  the  applicant  before  the  state  land  office;  also 
to  notify  his  client,  by  registered  letter,  at  the  address 
given  him,  whenever  the  application  should  be  approved; 
and  it  was  distinctly  stipulated  that  the  applicant  should 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  161 

not  be  required  to  elect  whether  or  not  he  would  abandon 
the  application  until  served  with  this  written  notice ! 

In  consideration,  also,  of  the  services,  fees  and  costs  pro 
vided  for  in  the  contract,  Mr.  McGraw  would  make  a  charge 
of  Three  Dollars  per  acre  for  all,  or  any  part,  of  the  land 
which  the  applicant  might  be  awarded  the  opportunity  to 
purchase;  this  fee  to  be  payable  to  him,  his  heirs  or  as 
signs,  if  and  whenever  the  application  of  his  client  should 
be  duly  approved  by  the  Registrar  of  the  State  Land 
Office. 

In  consideration  of  these  covenants,  the  applicant  was  to 
bind  himself  to  pay  Mr.  Robert  McGraw  the  stipulated  fee 
of  Three  Dollars  per  acre,  in  addition  to  the  One  Dollar 
and  Twenty-five  Cents  per  acre  demanded  by  the  state, 
reserving,  however,  the  right  to  abandon  his  filing  at  any 
time  prior  to  its  approval  by  the  Registrar  of  the  State 
Land  Office,  but  pledging  himself  not  to  abandon  without 
first  furnishing  his  attorney  (Robert  McGraw)  with  a 
proper  instrument  of  abandonment,  in  order  that  some 
other  person  might  be  located  on  the  land.  In  addition 
the  applicant  was  required  to  state  that  he  was  duly  quali 
fied,  under  the  law,  to  make  the  application  and  that  he 
had  read  both  the  application  form  and  the  contract  and 
was  familiar  with  the  section  of  the  code  under  which  he 
made  it. 

A  critical  perusal  of  the  terms  of  this  shrewd  contract 
will  readily  convince  even  a  layman  that  it  was  perfectly 
legal.  Bob  hurled  mental  defiance  at  every  legal  light  in 
the  country  to  prove  collusion  and  conspiracy  to  defraud 
Under  that  contract.  It  proved  merely  that  Bob  McGraw 
was  acting  in  his  capacity  as  a  duly  authorized  attorney- 
at-law,  seeking  to  turn  an  honest  penny. 

Now,  in  the  first  place,  the  abandonment  clause  in  the 
contract,  while  not  holding  his  client  to  the  contract,  never 
theless  held  the  land  to  Bob  McGraw!  He  anticipated 
that,  in  the  event  of  his  success  in  forcing  the  registrar  of 
the  state  land  office  to  accept  and  approve  the  applications, 


1 62  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

the  land  ring  would  immediately  seek  out  each  applicant, 
charge  the  applicant  with  being  a  party  to  a  gigantic  land 
fraud  conspiracy  and  threaten  him  with  a  Federal  Grand 
Jury  investigation  in  case  he  did  not  at  once  abandon  his 
filing!  The  poor  and  the  ignorant  are  easily  intimidated, 
and  Bob  McGraw  had  figured  on  this.  In  the  event  of 
"cold  feet"  on  the  part  of  his  applicant,  the  applicant 
would  come  to  him  to  abandon,  as  per  the  terms  of  the 
contract,  but  by  that  time  Bob  would  have  a  man  with 
nerve  to  take  his  place,  and  his  scheme  would  still  be  im 
pervious  to  "leaks!"  While  the  land  was  "tied  up"  by  a 
McGraw  applicant,  Bob  knew  the  enemy  could  not  get  it. 

When  Bob's  clients  signed  that  contract,  it  meant  noth 
ing  !  But  the  moment  the  applications  were  approved  for 
patent,  and  the  State  Land  Office  had  so  notified  him,  and 
he,  in  turn,  had  so  notified  his  clients,  his  clients  were  no 
longer  his  clients.  They  were  his  victims!  His  contract 
then  constituted  a  promissory  note,  and  Mr.  McGraw  knew 
enough  law  to  realize  that  failure  to  pay  a  promissory  note 
or  perform  a  contract  is  actionable.  Should  his  client 
repudiate  the  contract  prior  to  the  approval  of  the  appli 
cation,  he  was  safe;  but  to  repudiate  it  after  approval  and 
after  Bob  McGraw  had  advanced  him  the  money  to  pay 
for  the  land — ah,  that  was  a  different  matter.  Bob  Mc 
Graw  knew  he  could  secure  a  judgment  against  his  unfortu 
nate  client  in  any  court  of  law  in  the  country — and  the 
land  was  good  for  the  judgment!  Having  advanced  the 
cash  to  purchase  the  land  for  his  clients,  Bob  McGraw 
would  hold  that  deadly  contract  over  their  heads  as  se 
curity  for  the  advance! 

Under  the  terms  of  the  contract,  when  fulfilled,  each 
client  would  owe  Bob  his  three  dollars  per  acre  on  six  hun 
dred  and  forty  acres,  or  a  total  of  one  thousand  nine  hun 
dred  and  forty  dollars  as  a  legal  attorney's  fee,  and  to  the 
clients  that  Bob  McGraw  intended  to  select,  a  debt  of  such 
magnitude  would  loom  up  in  all  the  pristine  horror  of 
the  end  of  the  world  at  hand  and  salvation  not  yet  in 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  163 

sight.  With  malice  aforethought  the  promoter  of  Donna- 
ville  was  trading  on  the  credulity  of  the  very  people  he 
planned  to  benefit !  He  knew  with  what  ease  the  poor  rush 
into  debt  where  the  creditor  requires  nothing  down;  he 
knew  also  the  avidity  with  which  they  grasp  the  first  means 
of  escape  from  the  burden,  once  it  becomes  onerous;  and 
at  the  thought  the  villain  McGraw  chuckled  pleasurably. 

' '  Once  under  the  McGraw  thumb,  and  I  have  them !  I  '11 
demand  cash  on  the  nail  for  my  services.  They  will  be 
unable  to  pay  me.  I'll  harass  them  and  threaten  to  sue 
them,  and  then,  when  I  have  them  thoroughly  cowed,  I'll 
send  a  secret  agent  around  to  buy  their  land  from  them  at 
ten  dollars  an  acre.  After  using  their  constitutional  right 
to  purchase  lieu  lands,  they  are  entitled  to  a  profit  on  the 
investment,  and  besides,  I  must  show  a  'valuable  considera 
tion'  or  have  a  secret  service  operative  trailing  me. 

"However,  I  will  not  have  sufficient  funds  on  hand  to 
pay  them  ten  dollars  per  acre  spot  cash,  so  I  shall  turn  over 
to  them  their  signed  contracts  and  thus  relieve  them  of 
that  bugbear,  and  for  these  three-dollar  contracts  they  shall 
credit  me  with  a  payment  of  four  dollars  and  twenty-five 
cents  per  acre  on  the  land!  I  will  secure  them  for  the 
balance  by  a  first  mortgage  on  the  property!  And  with 
that  accomplished,  I  court  an  official  investigation.  Come 
on,  you  secret  service  operatives,  and  prove  Bob  McGraw 
a  crook.  I  am  a  crook,  and  1  know  it,  but  nobody  else 
shall  know  it  and  I  have  never  been  accused  of  talking  in 
my  sleep.  I'm  a  crook,  but  I'm  an  honest  crook,  and  the 
ends  justify  the  means.  Besides,  I'm  going  to  present 
every  one  of  my  clients  with  a  check  for  three  thousand 
six  hundred  and  seventy  dollars  for  the  mere  scratch  of  a 
pen  and  the  use  of  their  constitutional  right  to  purchase 
lieu  land.  "Why,  I  'in  a  philanthropist !  I  'm  going  to  make 
fifty  men  happy  by  giving  them  a  lot  of  money  for  some 
thing  they  never  knew  they  had.  Three  thousand  six  hun 
dred  and  seventy  dollars  for  the  use  of  one  constitutional 
right,  when  the  market  price  is  a  hundred!  McGraw,  ray 


164  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

boy,  this  must  never  leak  out.  If  it  does,  your  sanity  will 
be  questioned,  in  addition  to  your  morality." 

Thus  figured  Bob  McGraw,  the  sage  of  Donnaville.  Let 
him  but  get  his  applications  past  the  land  ring's  tool  in  the 
state  land  office,  and  a  receipt  issued  for  his  first  payment, 
and  Donnaville  would  be  no  longer  a  dream.  Should  the 
applications  be  rejected  later  on  some  flimsy  pretext,  he 
would  commence  a  mandamus  suit  to  enforce  the  selection 
of  his  lands,  and  force  action  of  the  pending  applications 
of  the  land  ring,  whereby  they  so  artfully  "tied  up  the 
basis"  of  exchange.  If  he  should  find  himself  opposed  by 
a  corrupt  judge  who  should  rule  against  him,  he  would  not 
be  daunted.  If  beaten  in  the  Superior  Court  he  would  ap 
peal  the  case  to  the  United  States  Circuit  Court,  for  Bob 
McGraw  had  a  sublime  faith  in  the  ability  of  Truth,  crushed 
to  earth,  to  rise  again  and  kick  the  underpinning  from 
crookedness  and  graft,  provided  one  never  acknowledged 
defeat.  And  he  could  go  into  court  with  clean  hands,  for 
he  broke  no  law  himself  and  he  would  induce  no  one  else 
to  break  it,  in  thought,  spirit  or  action ! 

The  road  to  Donnaville  stretched  ahead  of  him  now, 
smooth  and  white  and  free  from  ruts,  and  with  but  one 
bridge  to  cross.  For  the  successful  crossing  of  that  bridge 
Bob  McGraw  had  not  evolved  a  plan,  for  he  was  merely  a 
human  being,  and  human  cunning  has  its  limitations.  It 
was  a  bridge  which  he  must  cross  when  he  came  to  it.  He 
only  knew  that  he  must  make  the  effort  on  a  certain  day — 
the  day  that  Owens  river  valley  should  be  thrown  open  to 
entry.  He  must  be  first  at  the  window  of  the  land  office, 
and  once  before  that  window,  the  future  of  Donnaville,  the 
future  of  Bob  McGraw  and  his  sweetheart  in  San  Pasqual, 
lay  in  the  laps  of  the  gods.  He  must  manage  somehow  to 
get  his  applications  filed  that  day,  without  designating  the 
basis  of  the  exchange  of  school  lands  for  the  lieu  lands 
which  he  sought;  for  that  was  information  which  Bob 
McGraw  did  not  possess,  and  should  it  come  into  his  pos 
session  the  day  after  the  valley  was  opened  for  entry,  it 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  165, 

would  be  worthless;  for  the  land  ring,  in  the  parlance  of 
the  present  day,  would  have  "beaten  him  to  it." 

To  get  those  precious  filings  accepted !  That  was  all  that 
worried  him  now.  Prior  to  his  visit  to  Homer  Dunstan, 
this  task  had  seemed  to  Bob  the  least  of  his  worries  com 
pared  with  the  titanic  task  of  accumulating  the  money 
necessary  to  pay  for  the  land  when  the  filings  should  be 
approved.  Yesterday  everything  had  revolved  around  the 
necessity  for  thirty-nine  thousand  dollars,  until  the  con 
templation  of  this  monetary  axis  had  threatened  to  set  his 
reason  tottering  on  its  throne.  But  that  worry  no  longer 
existed.  Homer  Dunstan  had  indicated  very  clearly  to  Bob 
that  he  considered  him  insane,  but  Homer  Dunstan  had 
pledged  him  the  thirty-nine  thousand  dollars  when  he  could 
come  to  him  with  the  notification  from  the  Registrar  of  the 
State  Land  Office  that  the  lands  had  been  passed  to  patent, 
and  Bob  knew  that  Dunstan  would  keep  his  word,  provided 
his  death  did  not  occur  prior  to  the  granting  of  the  patents. 

The  rough  draft  of  the  contract  having  been  drawn  up 
to  his  satisfaction.  Bob  sallied  forth  in  search  of  a  public 
etenographer.  He  knew  that  he  had  evolved  rather  a  clever 
scheme,  and  he  was  averse  to  permitting  the  details  of  his 
plan  to  fall  under  the  comprehending  eye  of  some  boss 
printer,  whose  enterprise  might  perchance  soar  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  his  vocation.  So  Bob  sought,  instead,  a  pub 
lic  stenographer  and  had  his  copy  multigraphed  by  a  young 
lady  whose  interest  could  never,  by  any  possibility,  center 
in  anything  more  than  her  fee. 

The  job  was  delivered  two  days  later,  and  with  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  thirty  days  in  which  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  his  fifty  prospective  clients,  Bob  resolved 
to  devote  one  more  week  to  the  problem  of  still  further  re 
cruiting  his  shattered  vitality  before  getting  down  to  active 
work. 

He  spent  that  week  wandering  through  Golden  Gate 
Park,  along  the  romantic  and  picturesque  San  Francisco 
water-front,  and  in  moving-picture  shows.  Each  morn- 


1 66  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

ing,  before  starting  for  the  day's  wanderings,  he  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Donna  and  then  waited  for  the  first  mail  de 
livery  for  her  letter  to  him.  Those  letters  came  with  un 
failing  regularity,  and  in  that  city  where  Bob  McGraw 
prowled  through  the  day,  unknown  and  unnoticed,  there 
was  no  man  so  free  from  the  curse  of  loneliness  as  he.  The 
very  opening  line  in  Donna's  matutinal  greeting — "My 
Dear  Sweetheart" — routed  the  blue  devils  that  camped 
nightly  on  his  worried  and  harassed  soul,  as  he  lay  abed 
and  wrestled  with  the  mighty  problems  that  confronted 
him.  To  Bob  McGraw  those  three  words  held  the  open- 
sesame  of  life;  they  gave  him  strength  to  cling  to  his  high 
resolve;  they  whispered  to  him  of  the  prize  of  the  conflict 
which  awaited  him  at  the  end  of  his  long  road  to  Donna- 
ville,  and  sent  him  forth  to  face  the  world  with  a  smile  on 
his  dauntless  face  and  a  lilt  in  his  great  kind  heart. 

Time  glided  by  on  weary  wings,  but  eventually  the  day 
arrived  for  Bob  to  open  his  campaign.  He  must  clear  for 
action.  It  was  imperative  that  he  must  have  his  fifty  ap 
plications  filled  out  and  the  signatures  of  his  clients  attested 
before  a  notary  public  on  the  very  date  upon  which  the 
desert  of  Owens  river  valley  would  be  opened  for  entry, 
for  to  have  them  dated  the  day  before  would  nullify  them — 
to  arrive  with  them  at  the  land  office  the  day  after  would 
be  too  late.  Bob  was  obsessed  with  a  suspicion  that 
amounted  almost  to  a  conviction  that  the  land  ring  would 
endeavor  to  acquire  the  desert  valley  by  practically  the 
same  method  which  he  was  pursuing,  only  for  every  section 
of  lieu  land  upon  which  they  filed,  they  would  be  enabled 
to  show  a  corresponding  loss  of  school  lands.  His  line  of 
reasoning  had  convinced  him  that  they  had  caused  dummy 
entrymen  to  file  on  worthless  lands  in  some  other  part  of 
the  state,  in  order  that  these  bases  might  appear  of  record 
in  the  land  office  as  already  used,  in  case  of  an  investiga 
tion;  he  was  equally  convinced  that  these  dummy  applica 
tions  had  never  been  acted  upon  in  the  land  office,  but  were 
being  held  up  there  until  the  land  ring  was  ready  to  act, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  167 

•when  their  dummy  entrymen  would  abandon  their  filings 
on  the  worthless  land,  thus  throwing  the  original  basis  open 
for  use  once  more  and  permitting  the  land  ring  to  step  in 
with  other  dummy  entrymen  and  use  the  basis  for  the 
acquisition  of  valuable  lands.  It  was  absurdly  simple  when 
one  understood  it  and  took  the  time  to  reason  it  out. 

Of  one  thing  Bob  was  morally  certain.  The  representa 
tive  of  the  land  ring  would  be  on  hand,  bright  and  early, 
to  file  the  dummy  applications.  Bob  decided,  therefore, 
that  the  field  of  his  operations  until  that  eventful  day  must 
be  confined  to  the  state  capital,  Sacramento,  where  the  state 
land  office  was  located.  He  must  recruit  his  little  army  of 
applicants  from  the  capital  itself,  attest  their  applications 
before  a  notary  public  after  midnight  of  the  day  preceding 
the  opening  of  the  valley  for  entry,  and  be  first  at  the  filing 
window  when  the  land  office  opened. 

Accordingly  Bob  proceeded  to  Sacramento.  Immediately 
upon  his  arrival  he  rented  a  cheap  back  office,  a  desk  and 
some  chairs,  and  for  the  time  being  announced  himself  to 
the  world,  through  the  medium  of  a  modest  sign  on  his 
office  door,  as  The  Desert  Development  Company.  The  fol 
lowing  day  he  set  to  work. 

He  interviewed  street  sweepers,  hotel  porters,  cab  drivers, 
newspaper  reporters,  milk-wagon  drivers,  barkeepers  and 
laborers  along  the  river  docks — in  fact  every  follower  of  an 
occupation  which  Bob  judged  might  be  sufficiently  unre- 
munerative  to  keep  its  votaries  in  poverty  as  long  as  they 
persisted  in  sticking  to  it.  By  discreet  questioning  he 
learned  whether  the  prospective  client  had  money  in  bank, 
or  was  involved  in  debt.  If  the  former,  Bob  terminated 
his  interview  and  neglected  to  return;  if  the  latter,  Bob 
would  present  the  victim  with  a  good  cigar  and  proceed  to 
unfold  a  tale  of  wealth  in  desert  lands. 

To  these  men  Bob  explained  every  detail  of  his  propo 
sition  and  gave  them  a  copy  of  his  contract  form  and  his 
explanatory  circular  attached.  He  answered  all  their  ques 
tions  patiently — and  satisfactorily,  and  he  was  particularly 


1 68  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

insistent  wpon  calling  to  their  attention  the  fact  that  they 
were  not  required  to  put  up  a  single  dollar  in  order  to  ac 
quire  the  land.  Naturally,  this  seeming  philanthropy  im 
mediately  inspired  suspicion  and  a  request  for  information 
as  to  what  was  in  the  deal  for  Mr.  McGraw;  whereupon 
Mr.  MeGraw  would  point  proudly  to  that  clause  in  the  con 
tract  which  stipulated  a  three-dollar-per-acre  fee  and  in 
form  them  that  he  had  private  and  reliable  information  of 
not  less  than  two  irrigation  schemes  which  were  being 
projected  in  the  valley — schemes  which  would  give  their 
apparently  worthless  land  a  value  of  at  least  ten  dollars  per 
acre  and  enable  both  Mr.  McGraw  and  his  client  to  turn  a 
nice  little  profit  together.  He  showed  them  where  he  was 
helpless  without  them  and  where  they  were  profitless  with 
out  him,  and  to  make  a  profit  of  three  dollars  per  acre  for 
himself  he  was  willing  to  buy  the  land  for  them  and  take 
their  promissory  notes  in  payment.  More :  he  would  agree 
to  carry  them  for  the  land  until  they  had  an  opportunity 
to  sell  out  at  a  profit  of  at  least  three  thousand  dollars  I 
Mr.  McGraw  demanded  to  know  if  anything  could  possibly 
be  fairer  than  that. 

It  eould  not,  and  the  clients  were  forced  to  admit  it. 
iWin,  lose  or  draw,  it  cost  them  nothing  to  play  the  game 
with  Bob  McGraw.  After  all  is  said  and  done  the  average 
human  being  is  a  gambler  and  likes  long  odds,  and  Bob's 
prospective  clients  were  not  so  deficient  in  intelligence  as 
in  ready  cash.  They  knew  that  desert  land  without  irri 
gation  is  worthless ;  that  no  man  would  advance  them  money 
to  purchase  it  at  $1.25  per  acre  unless  he  saw  a  profit  in  the 
deal  for  himself.  Consequently,  irrigation  was  the  only 
solution  of  that  problematic  increase  in  value,  and  if  Mr. 
McGraw  could  afford  a  flyer  so  could  they. 

Bob  had  foreseen  this  line  of  reasoning,  for  he  knew 
that  spot  cash  is  the  bugbear  of  life  and  that  a  good  sales 
man  can  sell  anything  provided  he  sells  it  on  time.  Long 
before  the  expiration  of  the  period  he  had  set  himself  to 
accomplish  this  task,  he  had  signed  up  fifty  eager  appli- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  169 

cants  for  desert  land,  procured  their  addresses  and  then 
retired  to  his  little  back  office  to  write  letters  to  Donna 
and  await  the  rising  of  the  sun  on  his  day  of  destiny. 

The  day  preceding  the  one  on  which  the  valley  would 
be  opened  for  entry  was  a  busy  one  for  Bob  McGraw.  His 
cash  reserve  was  beginning  to  run  so  low  that  he  decided 
to  save  the  dollar  postage  necessary  to  remind  his  clients 
that  they  were  to  meet  him  in  his  office  at  midnight  of  that 
day ;  consequently,  and  in  view  of  the  fact  that  his  old-time 
•trength  practically  had  been  restored  to  him,  he  walked 
several  miles  in  order  to  call  upon  his  clients  at  their  places 
of  employment  and  secure  from  their  lips  a  solemn  promise 
to  be  on  hand  at  the  appointed  hour.  His  apparent  anx 
iety  made  them  all  the  more  eager  to  sign  up  with  him, 
and  not  a  single  client  failed  him. 

This  matter  attended  to,  Bob  engaged  a  notary  public, 
with  instructions  to  meet  him  at  his  office  at  midnight.  By 
eleven-thirty  the  corridors  of  the  silent  office  building  were 
thronged  with  the  eager  fifty ;  at  eleven-forty-five  the  notary 
arrived  and  at  exactly  one  minute  past  midnight  Bob  com 
menced  to  sign  his  clients  up.  The  notarial  blanks  had  al 
ready  been  filled  out  and,  together  with  the  notary's  seal, 
had  been  attached  to  each  contract.  In  addition  to  the 
contract  Bob  took  a  power-of-attorney  in  duplicate  from 
each  applicant;  the  notary  swore  each  of  the  fifty  appli 
cants  in  as  many  minutes,  Bob  paid  him  twenty-five  dollars 
and  he  departed;  after  which  Bob  made  a  short  speech  to 
his  clients  and  exhorted  them  to  stand  by  their  guns  in  the 
event  of  influence  being  brought  to  bear  upon  them  to  aban-j 
don  their  filings ;  whereupon  the  fifty  gave  him  their  prom 
ises,  collectively  and  individually,  shook  the  hand  of  their 
benefactor  and  departed  to  their  homes. 

Nothing  now  remained  for  Bob  to  do  except  present  his 
fifty  applications  for  filing  at  the  land  office  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  realizing  the  truth  of  that  ancient  saw  anent  the 
early  bird  and  the  resulting  breakfast  he  decided  to  wait 
in  the  office  until  it  should  be  time  for  him  to  go  to  the 


170  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

land  office.  In  the  meantime,  he  decided  to  while  away  the 
lonely  hours  by  a  review  of  his  financial  status,  so  he  locked 
the  door  and  devoted  the  succeeding  five  minutes  to  the 
comparatively  trifling  task  of  counting  his  money  and  figur 
ing  on  the  outlay  necessary  to  carry  him  back  to  San  Pas< 
qual.  He  was  horrified  to  discover  that  after  providing 
twelve  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  the  registrar  of  the 
state  land  office  (in  the  event  that  the  day  of  miracles  wras 
not  yet  past  and  his  filings  should  be  accepted),  his  return, 
journey  by  rail  would  terminate  somewhere  in  the  heart 
of  the  San  Joaquin  valley.  Even  after  pawning  his  gun, 
Mr.  McGraw  could  still  see,  in  his  mind's  eye,  at  least  one 
hundred  miles  of  dusty  county  road  stretching  between, 
him  and  San  Pasqual,  and  he  was  not  so  conceited  as  to 
imagine  that  he  was  strong  enough  to  walk  a  hundred  miles 
with  nothing  more  tangible  than  the  scenery  to  sustain  him 
en  route.  Moreover,  he  had  promised  Donna  that  they 
should  be  married  immediately  upon  his  return.  The  situ 
ation  was  truly  embarrassing,  and  Mr.  McGraw  cast  about 
him  for  a  means  to  extricate  himself  from  his  terrible  pre 
dicament.  In  his  agony  he  saw  a  flash  of  light — and  smiled 
as  he  realized  that  it  radiated  from  Mr.  Harley  P.  Hen- 
nage's  three  gold  teeth. 

' '  Saved ! ' '  quavered  Mr.  McGraw.  ' c  Good  old  Harley  P ! 
I'll  just  touch  the  old  boy  for  that  fifty  again,  in  case  I 
need  it.  If  they  accept  my  applications,  I  '11  have  to  assault 
Harley,  and  if  they  decline  the  applications  I  will  still 
have  my  twelve  hundred  and  fifty.  But  in  the  meantime 
•I'll  write  to  Hennage  and  tell  him  frankly  just  how  I'm 
;fixed,  and  if  it  comes  to  a  show-down  I'll  drop  the  letter  in 
the  mail,  return  to  San  Francisco  and  wait  for  him  to  send 
me  a  postal  money  order." 

He  turned  to  his  desk,  drew  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  toward 
him  and  indited  a  brief  note  to  Mr.  Hennage. 

Dear  Harley  P.: 

I  have  just  made  the  discovery  that  I  was  too  precipitate  in 
paying  you  that  fifty  I  owed  you  for  three  years.  I  am  a 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  171 

financial  wreck  on  a  lee  shore,  but  with  millions  in  sight,  and  I 
will  be  very  grateful  if  you  will  strain  your  good  nature  long 
enough  to  send  me  a  P.  O.  order  for  the  aforesaid  fifty,  address 
ing  me  General  Delivery,  San  Francisco.  I  will  explain  the 
transaction  to  you  when  I  get  back  to  San  Pasqual,  merely 
mentioning  in  passing  that  until  you  send  me  the  fifty  the  pros 
pects  for  my  immediate  return  are,  to  say  the  least,  somewhat 
vague.  I  never  could  walk  very  far  in  my  Sunday  shoes. 

Thanking  you,  my  dear  Harley,  until  you  are  better  paid, 
believe  me  to  be 

Your  sincere  friend, 

ROBERT  McGRAw. 

This  communication  Bob  folded  and  sealed  in  an  envel 
ope.  He  was  too  preoccupied  in  the  folding  to  notice  that 
he  had  folded  two  sheets  of  paper  instead  of  one.  The  sec 
ond  sheet  was  a  spare  copy  of  his  marvelous  contract  for 
the  acquisition  of  desert  lands,  which  through  some  acci 
dent  had  become  mixed,  with  the  printed  side  up,  among 
some  loose  sheets  of  blank  legal-size  typewriter  paper  which 
the  unconventional  Robert  had  purchased  in  the  pursuit 
of  his  correspondence  with  .Donna.  His  choice  of  letter 
paper  was  characteristic  of  Bob.  He  was  a  man  who  re 
quired  room  in  which  to  operate. 

His  letter  sealed  and  stamped,  Bob  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket,  lifted  his  long  legs  to  the  top  of  his  rented  desk, 
tilted  back  his  chair,  lit  a  cigar  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
contemplation  of  his  future.  Providentially,  his  future, 
as  he  viewed  it  there  in  that  lonely  office,  waiting  to  see 
what  the  dawn  would  bring  to  him  of  wealth  or  woe,  was 
sufficiently  indefinite  to  keep  his  fertile  brain  actively  em 
ployed  until,  far  off  in  the  city,  he  heard  a  clock  booming 
the  hour  of  six;  when  he  yawned,  closed  down  his  desk, 
picked  up  his  suit-case  which  stood,  packed  with  his  few 
poor  possessions  in  one  corner,  and  departed. 

In  an  all-night  restaurant  he  ate  a  hurried  breakfast; 
then,  suit-case  in  hand,  walked  over  to  the  capitol  building. 
The  capitol  grounds  were  deserted  as  he  strolled  through, 


172  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

entered  the  State  House  and  passed  down  a  dim  deserted 
corridor  until  he  came  to  the  door  of  the  state  land  office. 
He  had  definitely  located  the  office,  the  previous  day,  in 
order  to  provide  against  possible  fatal  delay  in  finding  it 
this  morning.  Apparently  he  was  the  sole  applicant  for 
desert  lands  that  morning,  and  anticipating  that  they* 
would  be  no  great  rush  to  file  entries  he  set  his  suit-cas* 
down  in  the  corridor,  sat  himself  on  the  suit-case  and 
•waited  for  the  office  to  open  for  business.  In  order  to 
make  certain  that  he  would  not  be  usurped  in  line,  however, 
when  the  office  opened  for  business,  he  had  placed  his  suit 
case  directly  in  front  of  the  door,  against  which  he  leaned 
his  weary  back.  The  door,  he  noticed,  opened  from  within. 
In  case  it  opened  secretly,  Mr.  McGraw  would  thus  fall 
into  the  surveyor-general's  office,  and  hardy,  indeed,  would 
be  he  who  could  dispute  his  claim  to  priority  in  the  line. 
In  fact,  so  satisfied  was  he  with  this  strategic  position,  and 
so  tired  and  drowsy  was  he  withal,  that  presently  he  relaxed 
tis  determination  to  remain  wide  awake. 


CHAPTER  XII 

[HE  first  intimation  that  Bob  received  of  this  laxity 
came  in  the  shape  of  a  sharp  dig  in  the  ribs  from 
the  index  finger  of  a  young  man  who  demanded  to 
know  why  Mr.  McGraw  didn't  wake  up  and  pay  for  his 
lodging.  Bob  turned  his  startled  sleepy  eyes  up  at  the 
stranger.  He  had  expected  to  confront  a  janitor,  but  his 
first  glance  informed  him  that  he  was  mistaken.  The  indi 
vidual  before  him  evidently  was  a  state  employe;  but  for 
all  that  Bob  could  advance  no  excuse  for  his  free  and  easy 
action  in  assaulting  him  with  his  index  finger.  No  one 
except  the  janitor  or  the  night  watchman  had  a  right  to 
such  familiarity  with  Mr.  McGraw 's  ribs  and  he  resented 
being  told  to  wake  up  before  he  was  ready. 

"You'll  have  to  get  out  of  my  way,  friend"  the  stranger 
informed  him. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,  old-timer"  replied  Bob.  "I'm  first 
in  line,  with  orders  to  stick  here  and  maintain  my  position 
at  all  hazards.  I'll  share  the  suit-case  with  you,  but  you 
mustn't  try  to  crush  in  in  advance  of  me." 

The  stranger  eyed  him  curiously.  "I'm  an  employe  of 
the  state  land  office ' '  he  said  coolly.  ' '  Please  permit  me  to 
get  into  the  office." 

Bob  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  just  eight  o'clock,  and 
he  knew  that  the  land  office  did  not  open  until  nine.  He 
wondered  who  this  industrious  individual  might  be  and 
what  reason  he  had  for  getting  down  to  work  an  hour  be 
forehand  ;  and  then ;  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  The  Big  Idea 
flashed  into  Bob  McGraw 's  brain. 

He  yawned  sleepily.  "Great  snakes!"  he  said,  "I've 
been  waiting  here  an  hour  for  you.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
old-timer,  I  didn't  recognize  you  at  first,  although  I  should 

173 


I74  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

have  known  you  right  off  by  that  little  mole  on  your  left 
cheek." 

He  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  picked  up  his  suit-case, 
while  the  stranger  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"Why  are  you  here  so  early?"  he  demanded.  Bob  Mc- 
Graw  would  have  liked  to  ask  him  the  same  question  but  he 
refrained. 

"There's  been  an  inquisitive  stranger  investigating  the 
old  man  and — well,  you  know  what  a  fox  Carey  is?  At 
the  last  moment  it  didn't  seem  wise  to  come  through  on 
the  original  programme,  so  I  came  up  instead.  I  'm  used  to 
taking  chances  and  I  'm  going  to  be  well  paid  for  this. ' ' 

Was  it  fancy,  or  did  Bob  really  detect  a  more  friendly 
light  in  the  man 's  eyes  ?  He  decided  that  he  had  not  over 
played  his  hand,  so,  fearful  that  he  might,  he  remained 
discreetly  silent  and  waited  for  the  door  to  be  opened.  The 
stranger  inserted  the  key  in  the  lock  and  stepped  into  the 
room.  Bob  followed  him  uninvited,  turned  carefully  and 
sprung  the  lock  on  the  door.  The  deputy  (for  such  Bob 
guessed  him  to  be)  passed  through  a  gate  in  the  counter 
and  on  into  an  inner  office.  He  returned  a  moment  later, 
pulling  on  his  office  coat.  At  the  counter  he  paused  and 
faced  Bob.  There  was  still  a  suspicious  look  in  his  alert 
intelligent  eyes. 

Bob  drew  the  fifty  applications  from  his  suit-case  and 
passed  them  over  the  counter.  "Hurry  with  them"  he 
said.  "There  isn't  any  time  to  lose.  Did  Carey  tell  you 
anything  about  that  fellow  McGraw,  who  filed  on  the  Cot 
ton  wood  lake  water?" 

The  deputy  nodded. 

"He's  dangerous"  warned  Mr.  McGraw.  "He's  tum 
bled  to  the  little  combination  and  he  11  upset  the  apple-cart 
if  you  don't  beat  him  to  it.  He  may  attempt  to  bully  the 
old  man  into  a  consolidation  by  threatening  to  mandamus 
your  chief  and  force  him  to  accept  the  filings.  McGraw 's 
dangerous  and  he's  got  big  influence  behind  him.  The  old 
man's  worried." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  175 

The  deputy  arched  his  eyebrows  cynically.  "  Where  do 
you  come  in?"  he  queried. 

Bob  drew  back  the  lapel  of  his  coat  and  showed  the  butt 
of  his  automatic  gun  nestling  under  his  left  arm. 

"I'm  playing  a  purely  professional  engagement,  my 
friend.  If  McGraw  should  show  up  here  this  morning  it  is 
my  business  to  take  care  of  him." 

The  deputy's  suspicions  were  allayed  at  last.  He  smiled 
in  friendly  fashion. 

"Keep  him  away  until  nine-thirty  and  there's  no  dan 
ger"  he  said.  He  scooped  up  Bob's  applications  and 
skimmed  through  them.  "Did  you  bring  the  coin?" 

Bob  placed  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  on  the  coun 
ter  and  shoved  it  toward  the  deputy. 

"I  won't  wait  for  the  receipts.  It's  too  risky.  Make 
them  out  as  fast  as  you  can  and  I  '11  call  for  them  after  the 
office  opens."  He  grinned  knowingly.  "I'm  going  out  in 
the  corridor  to  keep  inquisitive  people  away  and  give  you 
time  to  work." 

"You  didn't  bring  the  instruments  of  abandonment  for 
the  old  filings — " 

"I  know  it.  Carey  has  them.  He'll  probably  bring 
them  over  himself  later  in  the  day.  Too  risky — getting 
over  here  so  early.  There 's  a  gumshoe  man  on  his  trail. ' ' 

"All  right"  said  the  deputy,  and  hastened  to  his  desk 
with  the  bundle  of  applications.  Bob  unlatched  the  door, 
peered  cautiously  up  and  down  the  deserted  corridor,  and 
apparently  finding  the  coast  clear  stepped  out  into  the  hall. 
,  For  fifteen  minutes  he  walked  up  and  down  the  corridor 
'without  meeting  any  one  more  formidable  than  the  janitor, 
and  presently  the  janitor,  having  completed  the  sweeping 
of  the  corridor,  betook  himself  and  his  brooms  elsewhere. 
He  came  back  a  few  minutes  later,  however,  and  disap 
peared  in  a  small  room  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  only  to 
reappear  again  with  a  bucket  of  wet  sawdust  in  his  hand. 

Bob  McGraw  walked  to  the  main  entrance  of  the  State 
House  and  back  again  to  the  door  of  the  land  office.  Still 


176  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

nobody  «ame.  He  was  approaching  the  main  entrance  t« 
the  State  House  a  second  time  when  he  heard  an  automobile 
chugging  through  the  capitol  grounds  and  pause  outside 
the  main  entrance.  Half  a  minute  later  a  man  appeared 
at  the  head  of  the  corridor  and  approached  rapidly.  As  he 
came  nearer  Bob  saw  that  he  was  about  fifty  years  old.  He 
wore  a  carefully  trimmed  imperial  and  a  gold  pince-nez  and 
seemed  to  exude  a  general  air  of  pomposity  and  power. 
He  had  glittering  cold  gray  eyes  and  they  snapped  now 
with  anger  and  apprehension  as  he  half  walked,  half  ran, 
down  the  corridor.  Bob's  keen  glance,  roving  over  the 
man  for  details,  observed  that  he  carried  a  small  Gladstone 
bag  in  his  right  hand,  but  inasmuch  as  the  front  end  of  the 
bag  carried  no  initials,  Bob  waited  until  the  man  had  passed 
him  and  then  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  other  end  of  it. 
In  small  gold  letters  across  its  base  he  read  the  initials: 
T.  M.  C. 

"T.  Morgan  Carey!" 

In  a  bound  Bob  was  at  the  stranger's  side  and  laid  a 
firm  detaining  grip  on  the  latter 's  arm.  The  man  turned 
angrily  and  glared  at  Bob. 

"Mr.  T.  Morgan  Carey?"  said  Bob  McGraw  quietly, 
}<you're  wanted!" 

The  man  trembled.  Bob  could  feel  a  distinct  quiver 
pass  up  the  arm  he  was  holding. 

"Wha — what — who  wants  me?"  he  said. 

"Your  dear  old  Uncle  Samuel.  He'd  like  to  have  you 
explain  a  delicate  matter  in  connection  with  the  public  do 
main.  Give  me  the  little  grip  and  come  along  quietly.  I 
think  that  would  be  the  better  way.  If  you  make  a  row 
about  it,  of  course  I'll  have  to  put  the  bracelets  on  you; 
and  I'm  sure  neither  of  us  wishes  that  to  happen,  Mr. 
Carey." 

Bob  spoke  kindly,  almost  regretfully,  but  there  was  no 
mistaking  the  fact  that  he  meant  business.  T.  Morgan 
Carey's  face  was  ghastly.  He  surrendered  the  grip  with 
out  protest,  the  while  he  gazed  at  Bob  like  a  trapped  animal. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  177 

Presently  he  managed  to  pull  himself  together  sufficiently  to 
demand  in  a  trembling  voice: 

' '  But — why — I  don 't  understand.  "Where 's  your  author 
ity?  Have  you  a  warrant  for — this — this  outrageous  pro 
cedure  ? ' ' 

"I  have  no  warrant  for  you,  Mr.  Carey.  I — " 
"Then  let  me  pass  about  my  business,  sir.  How  dare — " 
"Easy,  easy!  You  are  not  arrested  in  the  commonly 
accepted  sense  of  that  term,  but  if  you  play  horse  with  me 
you  will  be.  I  came  here  this  morning  to  find  you  and 
ask  you  to  come  quietly  with  me  and  answer  a  few  ques 
tions;  also  to  let  me  see  what  you're  carrying  in  this  grip. 
Come  along  now,  Carey.  You  only  make  out  a  case  against 
yourself  by  resisting.  I  suppose  you  are  aware  of  the  fact 
that  a  secret  service  agent  requires  no  warrant  to  make  an 
arrest.  (Bob  did  not  know  that  such  was  the  case,  but  he 
made  the  statement  at  any  rate.)  You  are  temporarily— 
apprehended — upon  information  and  belief.  If  you  are 
worried  about  the  publicity  that  may  attach,  I  give  you 
my  word  the  newspapers  shall  not  hear  of  this  unless  a 
formal  charge  is  entered  against  you.  Come  with  me  if  you 
please,  Mr.  Carey. ' ' 

He  drew  Carey's  right  arm  through  his  own  strong  left 
and  marched  him  down  the  corridor.  It  had  been  his  first 
intention  to  escort  T.  Morgan  Carey  to  the  office  of  the  now 
defunct  Desert  Development  Company  and  lock  him  up 
there  for  the  good  of  his  soul — but  a  more  convenient  means 
of  marooning  his  enemy  now  presented  itself.  The  door  to 
the  janitor's  room  was  open;  an  electric  light  burned 
within,  and  from  the  keyhole  of  the  half  open  door  a  bunch 
of  keys  was  suspended. 

Bob's  brain  worked  with  the  rapidity  of  a  camera-shut 
ter.  He  threw  Carey's  bag  into  the  room,  whirled  and 
clamped  his  right  hand  over  Carey's  mouth,  while  with  his 
powerful  left  arm  around  the  land-grabber's  body  he  gently 
steered  his  victim  into  the  room.  Carey  struggled  desper 
ately,  but  Bob  held  him  powerless.  Finding  hitnaeif  as 


178  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

helpless  as  a  child  in  that  grizzly-bear  grip,  he  ceased  his 
struggles.  Instantly  he  was  tripped  up  and  laid  gently  on 
the  floor,  on  his  back,  with  Bob  McGraw's  one  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds  of  bone  and  muscle  camped  on  his  torso, 
holding  him  down.  "With  his  right  hand  effectually  silenc 
ing  Carey's  gurgling  cries  for  help,  and  a  knee  on  each 
arm  to  hold  Carey  still,  with  his  left  hand  Bob  drew  a  ban 
danna  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  gagged  his  man 
with  as  much  ease  as  he  would  have  muzzled  a  little  dog. 
Then  he  searched  through  his  victim's  pockets  until  he 
found  the  land-grabber's  handkerchief;  whereupon  he 
flopped  Carey  on  his  face  and  bound  his  hands  behind  him. 
It  was  but  the  work  of  an  instant  for  Bob  to  tear  off  his 
own  suspenders  and  bind  Carey 's  ankles  together.  Next  he 
rooted  through  a  bin  of  waste  paper  and  found  some  stout 
cord  with  which  he  bound  Carey  at  the  knees.  Then,  leav 
ing  his  victim  helpless  on  the  floor,  he  picked  up  the  little 
bag,  turned  off  the  light,  stepped  softly  out,  closed  and 
locked  the  door  behind  him,  slipped  the  bunch  of  keys  into 
his  pocket,  and  returned  to  the  land  office.  He  knocked, 
and  presently  the  door  of  the  private  office  further  down 
the  hall  opened  gently  and  the  deputy  glanced  warily  out. 
Seeing  Bob  at  the  main  entrance  he  went  around  and  let 
him  in. 

"I  took  a  chance"  Bob  explained,  "and  went  out  after 
the  balance  of  the  dope.  Any  sign  of  the  other  gang 
around?" 

"Not  a  soul." 

"Good  news.  I  had  an  idea  Carey  put  those  abandon- 
Iment  papers  in  this  little  bag"  and  he  held  up  the  bag  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  deputy  could  not  fail  to  see  the 
initials  T.  M.  C.  on  one  end.  This  had  the  effect  of  allaying 
any  lingering  suspicion  which  the  deputy  may  have  been 
entertaining,  and  without  waiting  to  see  the  contents  of  the 
bag  he  hurried  back  to  his  desk  to  complete  the  work  of 
filing  Bob's  fifty  applications. 

In  the  meantime  Bob  had  opened  the  bag.    It  contained 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  179 

applications  for  seventy-odd  sections  of  land  in  Owens  River 
Valley,  together  with  an  equal  number  of  instruments  of 
abandonment  of  filings  on  land  throughout  the  state. 

It  was  as  Bob  had  suspected.  The  corrupt  deputy  had 
informed  Carey  where  the  loss  of  school  land  would  occur. 
Carey's  dummy  entrymen  had  tied  up  for  him  these  bases 
of  exchange  for  lieu  lands  by  instantly  applying  for  worth 
less  lieu  lands,  and  these  applications  had  been  held  up  in 
the  land  office  unacted  upon,  in  order  that  the  bases  might 
show  of  record  as  used ;  then,  at  the  word  from  Carey,  these 
filings  on  worthless  land  had  been  abandoned,  in  order  that 
Carey  might  use  the  bases  for  the  acquisition  of  the  lands 
he  really  desired. 

"I'm  a  fool  for  luck"  murmured  Bob  McGraw,  as  he 
counted  off  fifty  of  these  instruments  of  abandonment, 
closed  the  bag  and  set  it  in  the  corner  with  his  suit-case. 
He  approached  the  counter  and  tossed  the  lot  over  to  the 
deputy. 

"Here  are  the  instruments  of  abandonment,  old-timer," 
he  said  casually.  "I  had  a  notion  Carey  put  them  in  that 
grip.  Better  get  'em  on  record  right  away  and  let  those 
receipts  for  the  filings  slide  until  the  office  opens  for  busi 
ness.  I'll  go  outside  and  lean  up  against  the  door.  Don't 
worry.  I'll  be  first  in  line,  and  if  the  other  gang  should 
be  at  my  heels  I'll  slip  you  over  a  bunch  of  dummies,  to 
throw  'em  off  the  scent,  and  you  can  hand  me  back  the  re 
ceipts  for  the  real  thing."  He  winked  comically  and  went 
out  into  the  corridor  again. 

Slowly  the  minutes  dragged  by.  Bob  looked  at  his 
watch.  It  was  a  quarter  of  nine.  Five  minutes  passed  and 
still  the  corridor  was  deserted.  Two  minutes  more  flitted 
by  and  then  the  janitor  came  around  the  corner  from  the 
next  corridor,  a  bucket  in  one  hand  and  a  mop  in  the  other. 
Bob  grinned  as  he  saw  the  man  try  the  door  of  the  room 
where  T.  Morgan  Carey  lay  trussed  up.  He  rattled  the 
knob  several  times,  then  searched  his  pockets  for  his  keys. 
Not  finding  them,  he  went  away  grumbling. 


1 80  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

It  was  just  nine  o'clock  when  the  janitor  returned.  Boft 
McGraw  was  close  enough  to  him  now  to  see  that  he  carried 
a  key,  which  he  slipped  into  the  lock,  opened  the  door  and 
passed  into  the  gloom  of  the  room  beyond.  Bob  trembled 
lest  he  step  on  T.  Morgan  Carey's  face.  While  the  janitor 
was  fumbling  for  the  electric  switch,  Bob  stepped  softly  in 
after  him,  and  as  softly  closed  the  door  behind  him,  just 
as  the  janitor  switched  on  the  light.  He  turned  at  the 
slight  sound  of  the  closing  door  and  found  himself  gazing 
down  the  long  blue  barrel  of  an  automatic  gun. 

* '  No  unnecessary  noise,  if  you  please ' '  said  Bob  McGra\v 
gently.  ''This  is  one  of  those  rare  occasions  where  silence 
is  golden.  Observe  that  man  on  the  floor,  my  friend  ?  He 
tried  to  make  a  noise  and  just  see  what  happened  to  him." 

The  janitor's  mouth  had  opened  to  emit  a  yell.  He 
closed  it  now,  slowly,  and  licked  his  lips. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded,  and  Bob  McGraw 
realized  instantly  that  in  the  janitor  he  had  not  met  a 
poltroon. 

"The  pleasure  of  your  society  for  half  an  hour"  mur 
mured  Bob,  and  smiled.  "I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you  if  I 
can  avoid  it,  but  if  you  make  a  row  I'll  tap  you  back  of 
the  ear  with  the  butt  of  this  gun.  The  individual  on  the 
floor  has  been  poking  his  nose  into  my  business  and  I  had 
to  put  him  in  storage  for  a  while.  Unfortunately  you  dis 
covered  him,  so,  much  to  our  mutual  displeasure,  I  must 
ftsk  you  to  bear  him  company  until  nine-thirty,  after  which 
you  may  return  to  your  janitorial  labors.  Don't  worry. 
I'm  not  a  hold-up  man.  Have  a  cigar.  Also  a  five-spot  to 
pay  you  in  advance  for  the  inconvenience  I  am  subjecting 
you  to." 

The  janitor's  face  became  normal  at  once.  He  accepted 
the  cigar  and  the  five-dollar  piece,  seated  himself  on  an  up 
turned  bucket  and  set  himself  patiently  to  await  the  mo 
ment  of  his  liberation.  He  sat  there  grinning  and  blowing 
smoke  at  Bob  McGraw. 

At  Bine-thirty,  Bob,  judging  that  the  deputy  had  had 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  i8r 

ample  time  in  which  to  place  his  affairs  in  shape,  decided 
to  raise  the  siege.  He  put  up  his  gun,  unlatched  the  door 
and  backed  out,  motioning  to  the  janitor  to  accompany  him. 
The  latter  obeyed  with  alacrity. 

"Come  on  into  the  land  office  with  me,  old  man"  Bob 
Invited  him.  "When  my  business  is  finished  there  I'll  give 
you  back  your  keys  and  ask  you  to  unwrap  the  gentleman 
we  just  left." 

They  entered  the  land  office  together. 

"Did  that  friend  o'  mine  leave  something  with  you  for 
me?"  Bob  queried  of  the  deputy,  and  flashed  him  a  light, 
ning  wink. 

"Waiting  for  you"  responded  the  deputy,  and  handed 
Bob  McGraw  a  large  manila  envelope.  "All  0.  K."  he 
added,  and  returned  the  wink. 

"Sure  you  recorded  those  abandonments?"  he  queried. 
The  deputy  nodded. 

"Then  we're  all  0.  K.  on  the  matter  of  designating  the 
basis,  are  we?" 

Again  the  deputy  nodded.  Bob  turned  and  handed  the 
keys  to  the  janitor. 

"That  being  the  case"  he  announced  cheerfully  but  in 
a  low  tone  of  voice,  "our  friend,  the  janitor,  will  immedi 
ately  proceed  to  release  Mr.  T.  Morgan  Carey  and  bring  him 
into  court.  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  I  am  Mr. 
Robert  McGraw,  and  I  have  you  by  the  short  hair,  you 
crooked  little  sneak.  You  should  have  looked  up  and  down 
the  corridor  and  noticed  all  the  witnesses  I  had  posted  to 
observe  you  letting  me  into  your  office  before  it  was  officially 
opened.  Oh,  I'm  not  worried  about  what  you  can  do  now. 
It's  only  nine-thirty  and  I  can  easily  prove  that  it  is  a 
physical  impossibility  for  one  man  to  do  the  work  you've 
done  this  morning,  and  dc  it  in  one  short  half  hour.  You 
have  entered  fifty  instruments  of  abandonment,  so  there 
are  that  number  of  bases  open  to  permit  of  the  exchange  of 
fifty  sections  of  lieu  land,  the  filing  receipts  for  which  I 
hold  in  my  hand.  Old-timer,  I  dare  you  to  attempt  the  job 


1 82  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

of  falsifying  a  public  record,  even  at  the  command  of  oui 
esteemed  old  friend,  T.  Morgan  Carey.  By  the  way,  here 
he  is.  Gracious,  what  a  hurry  we're  in!  Howdy,  T.  Mor 
gan?" 

T.  Morgan  Carey  had  fairly  leaped  into  the  room. 

"You — you  scoundrel!"  he  cried,  and  shook  his  fist  at 
Bob  McGraw.  "I'll  get  you  for  this"  he  said  in  low 
trembling  tones,  * '  if  it  takes  my  last  dollar. ' ' 

"No,  you  won't"  retorted  the  smiling  Btob,  "at  least,  not 
after  you've  had  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  your  obliging 
friend  here.  I've  waited  here  to  square  him  with  you, 
Carey.  He  isn't  to  blame.  I  just  bluffed  him  out  of  his 
boots.  You  mustn't  be  hard  on  him,  T.  Morgan.  You 
know  how  easily  I  bluffed  you.  Be  reasonable.  Charity 
covers  a  multitude  of  sins,  and  there's  a  lot  of  land  still  left 
in  the  lower  part  of  Owens  Valley,  although  my  friends 
have  had  their  pick  of  it.  There's  your  little  old  bag  with 
your  applications  still  untouched,  although  I  will  admit  that 
I  was  mean  enough  to  help  you  file  some  of  those  instru 
ments  of  abandonment  from  your  dummy  entrymen.  J 
must  hurry  along  now.  Thank  you  so  much — " 

The  janitor  entered.  In  his  hand  he  held  Mr.  McGraw 's 
suspenders. 

"You  might  need  these"  he  interrupted,  "more  particu 
lar  if  you're  goin'  to  do  any  runnin',  an'  I'll  bet  you  are." 

"Thank  you"  murmured  Mr.  McGraw.  "You're  very 
thoughtful,"  and  quite  calmly  he  proceeded  to  remove  his 
coat  and  vest  and  replace  the  suspenders.  When  he  was 
once  more  arrayed  for  the  street  he  thrust  his  sun-tanned 
hand  through  the  grilled  window  to  the  trembling  deputy; 
he  smiled  his  gay  lazy  whimsical  inscrutable  smile. 

"Buenos  dias,  amigo"  he  said;  and  so  astounded  was  the 
unhappy  deputy  that  he  actually  accepted  the  proffered 
hand  and  shook  it  limply. 

"You  scoundrel !"  hissed  T.  Morgan  Carey,  "you —  "  and 
then  he  applied  to  Bob  the  unpardonable  epithet. 

The  devil  leaped  to  life  in  Bob  McGraw.     His  right  arm 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  183 

<snot  out,  his  open  palm  landed  with  a  resounding  thwack 
on  the  side  of  Carey's  head.  As  the  land-grabber  lurched 
from  the  impact  of  that  terrific  slap,  McGraw's  left  palm 
straightened  him  up  on  the  other  ear,  and  he  subsided 
incontinently  into  a  corner. 

But  his  natural  lust  for  a  fight  had  now  reached  high- 
water  mark  in  Bob  McGraw's  soul.  He  whirled,  reached 
that  terrible  right  arm  through  the  window  and  grasped 
the  deputy  by  the  collar.  Right  over  the  counter,  through 
the  window,  he  snaked  him,  landing  him  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor  outside.  He  jerked  the  frightened  official  to  his  feet, 
cuffed  him  across  the  room  and  back  again  to  the  window. 

"That,"  he  said,  "for  your  broken  oath  of  office,  and 
that !  for  your  cheap  office  rule  that  has  no  foundation  in 
law  but  serves  to  frighten  away  the  weaklings  that  want  to 
file  on  lieu  land.  I  must  designate  the  basis,  must  I  ?  All 
right,  you  little  crook.  Watch  me  designate  it." 

He  landed  a  remarkably  accurate  kick  under  the  official 
coat-tails,  picked  the  deputy  up  bodily  and  hurled  him  in 
a  heap  in  the  same  corner  where  T.  Morgan  Carey  sprawled, 
blinking  (for  his  glasses  had  been  shaken  off  in  the  melee) 
and  weeping  with  fear  and  impotent  rage. 

For  a  moment  Bob  towered  above  them  like  a  great 
avenging  red  angel.  Then  his  anger  left  him  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  come.  Carey  and  the  deputy  presented  such  a 
pitiable  sight,  although  ludicrous  withal,  that  he  was  moved 
to  shame  to  think  that  he  had  pitted  his  strength  against 
such  puny  adversaries.  He  picked  T.  Morgan  Carey  out 
of  the  corner,  set  him  on  his  feet,  dusted  him  off,  gave  him 
his  hat  and  restored  to  him  his  gold  pince-nez.  The  deputy 
needed  no  aid  from  Bob  McGraw,  but  hastened  to  the  pro 
tection  of  his  sanctuary  back  of  the  counter.  Bob  stood 
looking  at  Carey,  smiling  his  old  bantering  debonair  smile. 
He  waited  until  Carey  had  recovered  his  composure. 

"Carey,"  he  said,  "you  will  remember  hereafter,  I  trust, 
that  it  is  the  early  bird  that  gets  the  worm,  that  prompt 
ness  is  a  virtue  and  lying  in  bed  mornings  a  heinous  crime. 


1 84  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Now,  the  next  time  you  run  up  against  a  Reuben  like  ma 
you  want  to  remember  the  old  saying  that  a  stump-tailed 
yellow  dog  is  always  the  best  for  coons.  An  easy  conscience 
is  to  be  preferred  to  great  riches,  Carey.  Be  honest  and 
you  will  stay  out  of  jail.  Before  I  go,  permit  me  to  intro 
duce  myself.  I'm  Bob  McGraw,  of  No  Place  In  Particular, 
and  a  lunatic  by  nature,  breed  and  inclination.  Mr.  Man- 
who-flies-through-the-window,  here  are  duplicate  copies  of 
my  power  of  attorney  from  my  fifty  clients,  authorizing 
and  instructing  the  surveyor-general  to  transact  all  of  his 
official  business  with  them  through  me.  Before  I  go  I  want 
to  say  that  as  a  usual  thing  I  try  to  be  a  gentleman ;  which 
fact  induces  the  utmost  regret  that  I  was  forced  to  gag  you 
and  truss  you  up  in  that  filthy  little  room.  If  I  hurt  you 
physically  then  I  am  sorry.  I  tried  to  do  the  unpleasant 
job  gently.  However,  this  is  no  parlor  game  that  you  and 
I  are  playing,  and  desperate  circumstances  sometimes  neces 
sitate  desperate  measures.  As  for  the  blows  I  struck  you 
— that  is  too  bad,  because  you're  old  enough  to  be  my 
father,  but  you  displayed  excessively  bad  taste  in  your 
choice  of  expletive.  Even  then  I  merely  slapped  you. 
But  I'm  sorry  it  had  to  come  to  that." 

He  paused  and  gazed  calmly  about  him  for  a  moment. 

"I  guess  that's  all"  he  added  innocently.  "Good  morn 
ing." 

With  a  chuckle  that  mingled  triumph,  deviltry  and  the 
sheer  joy  of  living,  Mr.  McGraw  picked  up  his  suit-case, 
backed  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  fled  along  the  corridor. 
On  the  driveway  in  front  of  the  capitol  he  saw  an  auto 
mobile  standing,  throbbing.  He  ran  to  it  and  leaped  into 
the  tonneau. 

"This  is  Carey's  car,  isn't  it?"  he  demanded. 

The  chauffeur  nodded.  He  would  have  saluted  any  one 
not  so  distinctly  rural  as  Bob  McGraw. 

"You're  to  take  me  over  to  Stockton  right  away.  Turn 
her  wide  open  and  fly.  Great  Scott,  we're  all  in  a  hurry 
this  morning.  Git!  Vamoose,  and  scorch  the  gravel." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  185] 

Now,  it  is  a  curious  psychological  fact  that  when  a  robust 
authoritative-looking  man  gives  an  order  with  the  air  of 
one  used  to  commanding,  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  the  peo 
ple  to  whom  he  gives  his  orders  will  hasten  to  obey  without 
pausing  to  question  his  authority.  The  chauffeur  threw 
in  his  clutch  and  the  car  glided  away,  while  Bob  McGraw, 
glancing  back,  saw  T.  Morgan  Carey  and  a  uniformed 
watchman  dashing  down  the  capitol  steps. 

They  were  too  late.  T.  Morgan  Carey  shouted  to  his 
chauffeur,  but  it  was  not  a  day  of  silent  motors,  and  legis 
lation  affecting  muffler  cut-outs  was  still  in  the  dim  and 
distant  Not- Yet. 

The  car  sped  out  of  the  capitol  grounds  and  away  into 
the  heart  of  the  city.  Presently  the  houses  grew  more  scat 
tered,  the  traffic  dwindled  and  the  car  leaped  forward  at  a 
forty-mile-an-hour  clip.  They  swung  down  a  wide  road 
that  stretched  south  into  the  sunny  San  Joaquin,  and  the 
mellow  piping  of  meadow  larks  and  linnets  came  pleasantly 
to  Mr.  McGraw 's  ears ;  the  pungent  aroma  of  tar-weed,  the 
thousand  and  one  little  smells  of  the  wide  free  spaces  that 
he  loved  floated  across  to  him  from  the  fields  on  each  side 
of  the  road,  as  he  sat  erect  in  the  tonneau  and  sniffed  the 
air  of  freedom. 

He  had  had  his  fill  of  cities  and  he  was  glad  to  leave  them 
behind. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

|HE  second  event  in  Donna  Corblay's  life  was  about 
to  be  consummated.  For  the  first  time  since  her 
arrival  in  San  Pasqual,  a  babe  in  arms,  she  was 
about  to  leave  it! 

All  of  her  uneventful  colorless  mediocre  life  Donna  had 
felt  a  passionate  longing  to  go  up  into  the  country  on  the 
other  side  of  the  range.  To  her,  the  long  strings  of  passen 
ger  coaches  came  to  San  Pasqual  as  the  heralds  of  another 
world — poignant  pulsations  of  the  greater  life  beyond  the> 
sky-line,  and  not  as  the  tools  of  a  whimsical  circumstance, 
bringing  to  Donna  a  daily  consignment  of  hats.  From 
earliest  childhood  she  had  watched  the  trains  disappearing 
into  Tehachapi  Pass,  tracing  their  progress  northward  long 
after  they  had  disappeared  by  the  smoke  wafted  over  the 
crest  of  the  bare  volcanic  range;  until  with  the  passage  of 
many  trains  and  many  years  the  desire  to  see  what  lay 
beyond  that  grim  barrier  had  developed  into  an  obsession. 
Because  of  the  purple  distances  that  mocked  her,  the  land 
of  sunshine,  fruit  and  flowers  was  doubly  alluring ;  her  de 
sire  was  as  that  of  a  soul  that  dwells  in  limbo  and  longs 
for  the  smile  of  God. 

And  to-day  she  was  going  out  into  the  world,  for  this 
was  her  wedding  day.  She  had  received  Bob's  telegram, 
asking  her  to  meet  him  in  Bakersfield,  and  she  was  going 
to  meet  him;  alternately  she  laughed  and  wept,  for  tho 
transcendent  joy  of  two  Events  in  one  short  day  had  filled 
her  heart  to  overflowing,  leaving  no  room  for  vague  fore 
bodings  of  the  future. 

Donna  dressed  herself  that  morning  with  painstaking 
detail.  Too  late  she  had  discovered  that  she  didn't  possess 
a  dress  fit  to  wear  at  any  one's  wedding,  not  to  mention 

183 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  187 

fter  own.  From  time  to  time  she  had  dreamed  of  a  swagger 
tailored  suit,  but  the  paradox  of  a  swagger  tailored  suit  in 
San  Pasqual  had  been  so  apparent  always  that  Donna  could 
not  bring  herself  to  the  point  of  submitting  to  a  measure 
ment  in  the  local  dry-goods  emporium,  having  the  suit  made 
in  Chicago  and  sent  out  by  express.  Instead  she  had  reso 
lutely  stuck  to  wash-dresses,  which  were  more  suited  to  the 
climate  and  environs  of  San  Pasqual,  and  added  the  tailored 
suit  money  to  her  sinking  fund  in  the  strong  box  of  tha 
eating-house  safe. 

No,  Donna  was  not  prepared  to  obey  Bob  MeGraw's 
summons.  She  wept  a  little  as  she  reflected  how  provincial 
and  plebeian  she  must  appear,  stepping  down  from  the 
train  at  Bakersfield,  clad  in  a  white  duck  walking  suit, 
white  shoes  and  stockings  and  a  white  sailor  hat.  She 
wanted  Bob  to  be  proud  of  her,  and  her  heart  swelled  to 
bursting  at  the  thought  that  she  must  deny  him  such  a 
simple  pleasure.  Poor  Donna !  Once  she  had  thought  that 
suit  so  beautiful.  It  was  a  drummer's  sample  which  she 
had  purchased  from  a  commercial  traveler  who,  claiming 
to  own  his  own  samples,  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  accept 
a  price  for  the  suit  when  at  length  he  became  convinced 
that  under  no  circumstances  would  Donna  permit  him  to 
make  her  a  present  of  it.  He  had  informed  her  at  the 
time  that  it  was  the  very  latest  Parisian  creation  and  she 
had  believed  him. 

If  Donna  had  only  known  how  ravishing  that  simple 
costume  made  her  appear  and  what  a  vision  she  would  be 
to  the  hungry  eyes  of  Bob  McGraw !  Yet,  she  was  ashamed 
|to  let  even  the  San  Pasqualians  see  her  leaving  town  in  such 
a  dowdy  costume,  and  as  she  walked  up  the  tracks  from  the 
Hat  Ranch  that  momentous  morning,  bearing  aloft  a  para 
sol  that  but  the  day  before  had  been  the  joy  of  her  girlish 
existence,  she  was  fully  convinced  that  a  more  commonplace 
addendum  to  a  feminine  wardrobe  had  never  been  de 
vised. 

She  was  certain  that  all  San  Pasqual  must  know  her 


1 88  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

secret — that  this  was  her  wedding  day.  She  shuddered 
lest  the  telegraph  operator  had  suspected  something,  despite 
Bob's  commendable  caution,  and  had  incited  the  townspeo 
ple  to  line  up  at  the  depot,  there  to  shower  her  with  rice 
and  hurl  antiquated  footgear  after  the  train  that  bore  her 
north.  Such  horrible  rites  were  preserved  and  enacted 
with  religious  exactitude  in  San  Pasqual. 

Until  that  morning  Donna  never  had  really  known  how 
ardently  she  longed  to  escape  from  the  sordid  commonplace 
lonely  little  town.  With  its  inhabitants  she  had  nothing 
in  common,  although  she  noted  a  mental  exception  to  this 
condition  as,  from  afar,  she  observed  Harley  P.  Hennage 
standing  in  front  of  the  eating-house  door,  picking  his 
teeth  with  his  gold  toothpick.  She  felt  a  sudden  desire  to 
go  to  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual  and  pour  out  to  him 
the  whole  wonderful  story ;  then  to  await  his  quizzical  con 
gratulations  and  bask  for  a  moment  in  his  infrequent  honest 
childish  smile,  for  Donna  had  a  very  great  longing  to-day 
to  permit  some  human  being  to  bear  with  her  the  burden 
of  her  joy. 

She  was  still  a  block  from  the  center  of  the  town  when 
the  train  pulled  in  from  the  south,  the  last  car  coming  to  a 
stop  close  to  where  she  was  standing.  Donna  observed  that 
the  male  entities  of  her  little  world  had  assembled  to  see 
that  the  train  pulled  in  and  out  again  safely,  and  had  their 
attention  centered  upon  the  new  arrivals  who  were  rushing 
into  the  eating-house  for  a  hurried  snack.  She  saw  her 
opportunity.  There  was  no  necessity  for  her  to  brave  the 
crowd  at  the  window  in  order  to  purchase  a  ticket.  De-: 
cidedly  luck  was  with  her  this  morning.  She  took  her  suit 
case  from  Sam  Singer,  the  faithful,  climbed  aboard  the  last 
car,  walked  through  into  the  next  car,  which  happened  to 
be  a  sleeper,  found  a  vacant  state-room,  entered,  pulled, 
down  the  window  shade  and  waited  until  the  train  started. 
As  her  car  rolled  past  the  depot  she  peered  out  and  saw 
Harley  P.  Hennage  scratching  his  head  with  one  hand, 
while  in  the  other  he  held  a  letter  which  he  was  reading, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  189 

Donna  could  not  help  wondering  who  had  written  a  letter 
to  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual. 

She  was  glad  of  the  seclusion  of  the  state-room  until  the 
train  was  a  mile  outside  San  Pasqual,  when  she  went  out  on 
the  observation  car.  Donna  knew  she  ran  little  risk  of 
meeting  a  San  Pasqualian  in  first-class  accommodations,  and 
as  she  sat  there,  watching  the  shiny  rails  unwinding  behind 
her,  her  luxurious  surroundings  imparted  a  sense  of  charm 
and  comfort  which  she  had  never  felt  before.  The  scenery 
in  the  pass  proving  uninteresting,  she  forgot  about  it  and 
gave  herself  up  to  a  day-dream  which  had  become  a  favorite 
with  her  of  late — a  dream  which  had  to  do  with  a  little 
Spanish  house  surrounded  by  weeping  willows  and  Lom- 
bardy  poplars  (Donna  had  once  seen  a  picture  of  a  house 
so  surrounded)  ;  of  a  piano,  which  she  would  learn  to  play, 
of  a  perfectly  appointed  table  at  which  she  sat  with  Bob 
across  the  way,  smiling  at  her  and  assuring  her  (with  his 
eyes)  that  he  loved  her,  while  his  glib  tongue  informed  her 
that  the  soup  was  by  far  the  best  he  had  ever  tasted. 

As  Donna  dreamed  she  smiled — unconsciously — a  smile 
intended  for  Bob  McGraw,  and  a  drummer  who  sold  lace 
goods  for  a  St.  Louis  house  appropriated  that  smile  to  him 
self.  He  leered  across  the  aisle  familiarly  and  with  a 
vacuous  smile  inquired: 

"Say,  sister!  Ain't  you  the  little  girl  that  takes  cash 
in  the  eatin'  house  at  San  Pasqual?  I  thought  your  face 
looked  kinder  familiar," 

Donna  suddenly  ceased  dreaming.  She  glanced  across 
at  her  interlocutor,  and  by  reason  of  long  obedience  to  the 
unwritten  rule  of  eating-houses  which  requires  that  one 
must  be  pleasant  to  customers  always,  she  forgot  for  a  mo 
ment  that  she  was  on  her  way  to  be  married.  She  nodded. 

"Goin'  up  to  Bakersfield?" 

Again  Donna  nodded. 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  got  anything  on,  what's  the  matter 
with  some  lunch  and  an  automobile  ride  afterward,  sister? 
What 're  you  goin'  to  do  in  Bakersfield?" 


1 90  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

' '  I  am  going  to  meet  a  young  man  at  the  station ' '  replied 
Donna  sweetly.  "A  tall  young  man  with  a  forty-four-incb. 
chest  and  a  pair  of  hands  that  will  look  as  big  as  picnic 
hams  to  you  when  I  tell  him  that  you've  been  impertinent 
to  me." 

The  face  of  the  impertinent  one  crimsoned  with  embar 
rassment.  He  mumbled  something  about  not  meaning  any 
offense,  fussed  with  his  watch-charm  for  a  minute,  coughed 
and  finally  fled  to  the  day-coach. 

Donna  smiled  after  his  retreating  figure.  How  good  it 
was,  after  three  years  of  subjection  to  the  vulgar  advances 
of  just  such  fellows  as  he,  to  reflect  that  at  last  she  was  to 
have  a  protector!  An  almost  unholy  desire  possessed  her 
to  see  Bob  climb  aboard  at  the  next  station,  twine  his  lean 
hands  around  that  drummer 's  trachea  and  shake  some  man 
hood  into  him.  This  thought  suggested  reflections  upon 
the  present  state  of  Bob's  health,  so  she  took  his  last  letter 
from  her  hand-bag  and  read  it  for  the  forty-second  time. 
But  it  was  unsatisfactory — it  dealt  entirely  with  Donna 
and  his  experiences  with  applicants  for  lieu  land,  so 
she  abstracted,  one  by  one,  every  letter  she  had  ever  re 
ceived  from  him  and  read  them  all.  So  absorbed  was  she 
in  their  perusal  that  the  other  side  of  the  range,  which  had 
always  been  such  a  matter  of  primary  importance,  was  now 
relegated  to  oblivion. 

The  brakeman  came  through  the  car  shouting :  ' '  Bakers- 
field  !  The  next  station  is  Bakersfield !"  but  Donna  did  not 
hear  him.  She  was  dreaming  of  Bob  McGraw. 

The  train  came  to  a  stop.  Donna  dreamed  on — and  pres 
ently  a  familiar  voice  spoke  at  her  side. 

"Well — sweetheart!  The  train  pulls  out  again  in  two 
minutes  and  I've  been  looking  for  you  in  every  car — " 

"Bob!" 

It  was  he,  looking  perfectly  splendid  in  a  marvelous  blue 
suit  that  must  have  cost  at  least  eighteen  dollars.  He  held 
out  his  hands,  drew  her  to  him  and,  in  the  sight  of  all  men- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  191 

kind,  he  kissed  her.  and  whispered  to  her  endearing  little 
names.  She  could  not  reply  to  them;  she  could  only  take 
his  hand,  like  a  little  lost  child,  and  follow  him  through  the 
car,  down  the  steps  and  into  the  hotel  bus  which  was  to  take 
them  up  town.  And  on  the  way  up  town  neither  spoke  to 
the  other,  for  it  seemed  to  each  that  even  their  most  com 
monplace  remarks  to-day  must  be  freighted  with  something 
sacred,  in  which  the  inquisitive  world  at  large  would  be 
bound  to  manifest  a  stupendous  interest.  And  inasmuch, 
as  it  was  plainly  none  of  the  world's  business — 

The  bus  had  stopped  in  front  of  a  tremendous  hotel.  It 
was  four  stories  high !  All  along  the  front  of  the  first  story 
it  was  glass  and  Donna  could  look  right  through  it  and  see 
everything  that  was  going  on  inside!  She  paused  on  the 
top  step  of  the  bus  to  view  the  marvels  of  this  town  of  less 
than  twenty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  then  a  skeezicks  of 
a  boy,  very  gay  in  brass  buttons,  and  with  a  darling  little 
round  cap  on  his  perky  head,  came  and  took  forcible  pos 
session  of  her  suit-case.  He  tore  it  right  out  of  Bob 's  hand 
and  ran  away  with  it.  Donna  was  on  the  point  of  crying 
out  at  the  theft,  when  Bob  reached  up  and  lifted  her  bodily 
to  the  ground. 

"Reuben!  Reuben!"  he  breathed  tenderly  in  her  ear, 
"don't  stare  so  at  the  great  round  world.  You're  so  beau 
tiful,"  he  added,  "and  I'm  so  proud  of  you!  "Where  cftdj 
you  get  that  marvelous  dress  ? ' ' 

She  glanced  up  at  him,  radiant.  He  was  proud  of  her! 
He  liked  her  dress !  It  was  sufficient.  Bob  McGraw,  man 
of  the  world,  had  set  the  stamp  of  his  approval  on  his  bride, 
and  nothing  else  mattered  any  more.  She  followed  him  into 
the  hotel,  where  he  checked  her  suit-case  with  the  skeezicka 
who  had  stolen  it,  and  then  led  her  into  the  dining-room. 

"Let's  have  lunch,  Donna"  he  said,  "or  at  least  pretend 
to.  I  couldn't  eat  now.  I  want  to  talk.  The  man  who 
can  eat  on  his  wedding  day  is  a  vulgarian,  and  dead  to  the 
finer  feelings." 


i92  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

They  found  a  secluded  table  and  ordered  something,  and 
when  the  waitress  had  taken  the  order  and  departed,  Bob 
leaned  across  the  table. 

' '  You  're  so  beautiful ! "  he  repeated.  ' '  I  love  you  in  that 
white  suit." 

' '  I  hadn  't  anything  but  this  old  thing,  dear.  I  hated  ta 
come  up  looking  like  a  frump — " 

"Listen  to  the  girl!     Why,  you  old  sweetheart — " 

"Do  you  love  me,  Bob?" 

* '  More  than  ever.  In  the  matter  of  love,  Donna,  absence 
really  makes  the  heart — " 

"How  much?"     She  lifted  her  face  toward  him  ador* 

jngly. 

"Ten  hundred  thousand  million  dollars'  worth"  he  de« 
dared,  and  they  both  laughed. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you're  a  man  or  just  a  big  boy'fc 
Donna  told  him.  She  sighed.  "But  then  I  don't  know 
anything  to-day,  except  that  if  I  am  ever  happier  than  I 
am  this  minute  I  shall  die.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  stand  it. 
But,  dearie!  You  haven't  told  me  a  word  about  Donna- 
yille!" 

So  Bob  related  to  her  a  minute  history  of  himself  from 
the  moment  he  had  left  her  until  he  had  leaned  over  her 
in  the  observation  car.  He  described,  with  inimitable  wit 
and  enjoyment,  his  experience  in  the  land  office,  and  to 
gether  they  examined  the  fifty  receipts. 

"I'm  sorry  you  had  to  lock  Mr.  Carey  in  the  room  and 
gag  him  and  tie  him  up ' '  said  Donna  regretfully.  ' '  Maybe 
he'll  have  you  arrested!" 

"I'm  sorry,  too,  dear.  But  then  it  was  the  only  thing 
I  could  do  and  I  had  to  keep  him  quiet.  Oh,  I  don't  care" 
he  added  defiantly.  "  I  'd  muss  up  an  old  crook  like  Carey 
every  hour  for  your  sake.  But  he  won 't  have  me  arrested. 
That  would  be  too  dangerous  for  him." 

' '  Then  you  can  get  the  land  right  away  ? ' '  she  queried. 

He  shook  his  head.  "The  cards  haven't  even  been  dealt, 
sweetheart.  My  applications  will  almost  certainly  be  held 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  193 

up  six  months  in  the  state  land  office  before  they  are  ap 
proved  by  the  surveyor-general  and  forwarded  to  the  Com 
missioner  of  the  General  Land  Office  at  Washington  to  be 
passed  to  patent  by  the  United  States.  And  I  shall  be  very 
greatly  surprised  if  Carey  hasn't  a  friend  in  Washington 
who  will  see  that  the  granting  of  the  patents  is  delayed  for 
several  years.  Then,  when  the  matter  cannot  be  delayed 
any  longer,  Carey  will  induce  one  of  his  dummies  to  pro 
test  the  applications,  alleging  that  they  are  part  of  a  gigan 
tic  land  fraud  scheme,  and  a  few  more  years  will  go  by 
while  this  protest  is  being  investigated. ' ' 

"But  you'll  win  in  the  long  run,  will  you  not?" 

He  shrugged  expressively.  "I  may.  I  anticipate  that 
Carey  will  give  me  all  the  time  he  can  to  get  my  water- 
right  developed  and  earn  thirty-nine  thousand  dollars  to 
pay  for  the  land  for  my  Pagans." 

"But  I  thought  Mr.  Dunstan  had  promised  to  loan  you 
that  money?" 

"Homer  Dunstan  is  an  old  man,  Donna  girl.  If  he 
should  die  in  the  interim,  my  name  is  in  the  lion 's  mouth. '  * 

"But  what  are  we  to  do,  Bobby?"  she  quavered,  sud 
denly  frightened,  as  the  enormousness  of  the  man's  task 
loomed  before  her. 

"Quien  sabe"  he  said  ruefully.  "We'll  marry  first  and 
think  of  it  afterward — that  is,  if  you  still  think  you  want 
to  marry  a  chap  whose  cash  assets  represent  less  than  thirty 
dollars  of  borrowed  money." 

She  thought  swiftly  of  the  boor  who  had  spoken  to  her 
on  the  train  that  morning ;  of  her  dull  lonely  changeless  life 
in  San  Pasqual;  and  the  longing  for  protection  was  very 
great  indeed.  She  wanted  some  one  on  whom  she  might 
lean  in  the  hour  of  stress  and  woe,  and  she  had  selected 
him  for  that  signal  honor.  Why,  then,  should  they  not 
marry?  They  would  not  always  be  poor.  He  had  his 
work  to  do  and  she  had  hers,  and  their  marriage  need  not 
interfere.  She  wanted  to  help  him,  and  with  her  woman's 
intuition  she  realized  that  his  was  the  nature  that  yearm 


I94  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

for  the  accomplishment  of  great  things  when  spurred  to 
action  by  the  praise  and  comfort  of  a  mate  in  sympathy 
with  his  dreams  and  his  ideals.  She  almost  shuddered  to 
think  of  what  might  happen  to  him  should  he  marry  a  girl 
who  did  not  understand  him !  It  seemed  to  her  that  for  his 
sake,  if  for  no  other,  she  must  marry  him,  and  when  she 
raised  her  brilliant  eyes  to  his  he  read  her  answer  in  their 
limpid  depths. 

' '  Do  you  need  me  ? ' '  she  queried. 

"Very  much"  he  answered  humbly,  "but  not  enough  tft 
insist  upon  you  sharing  my  poverty  with  me.  You're  self- 
supporting  and  it  isn't  fair  to  you,  but  rather  selfish  on 
my  part.  And  you  must  realize,  Donna  dear,  that  I  cannot 
remain  in  San  Pasqual.  I  have  my  work  to  do;  I  must 
make  money,  and  I  cannot  take  you  to  the  place  where  I 
hope  to  make  it." 

' '  I  expect  to  be  left  alone,  Bob.  But  I  do  not  mind  that. 
I've  lived  alone  at  the  Hat  Ranch  a  long  time,  dear,  and  I 
can  stand  it  a  little  longer.  I  do  not  wish  to  tie  you  to 
my  apron-strings  and  hamper  you.  What  are  your  plans  ? '  * 

"Well,"  he  said  a  little  sheepishly,  "I  thought  I'd  like 
to  make  one  more  trip  into  the  desert.  I  have  some  claims 
over  by  Old  "Woman  mountain,  in  San  Bernardino  county, 
and  they  're  pockety.  I  might  clean  up  a  stake  in  there  this 
winter.  It 's  about  the  only  chance  I  have  to  raise  the  wind, 
but  even  then  it's  a  gambler's  chance." 

He  was  a  Desert  Rat !  The  lure  of  the  waste  places  was 
calling  to  him  again,  tormenting  him  with  the  promise  of 
rich  reward  in  the  country  just  beyond.  Donna  thought  of 
her  own  father  who  had  left  his  bride  on  a  similar  errand, 
and  the  thought  that  Bob,  too,  might  not  come  back  stabbed 
her  with  sudden  anguish.  But  he  was  a  man,  and  he  knew 
best ;  in  a  desert  country  some  one  must  do  the  desert  work ; 
he  loved  it  and  she  would  not  say  him  nay.  Yet  the  big 
tears  trembled  on  her  long  lashes  as  she  thought  of  what 
lay  before  him  and  her  heart  ached  that  it  must  be  so.  HQ 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  195 

watched  her  keenly,  waiting  for  the  protest  which  he 
thought  must  come.  Presently  she  spoke. 

"We  must  figure  on  an  outfit  for  you." 

His  brown  eyes  lit  with  admiration,  for  he  realized  the 
grief  that  lay  behind  that  apparently  careless  acceptance  of 
his  plan,  and  loved  her  the  more  for  her  courage. 

"Yes,  I'll  need  two  burros,  with  packs,  and  some  drills, 
tools,  dynamite  and  grub — two  hundred  dollars  will  outfit 
me  nicely.  1 11  have  to  scout  around  and  borrow  the  money 
somewhere,  and  to  be  quite  candid,  Donna,  I  have  designs 
on  our  gambler  friend,  Hennage. " 

She  smiled.  ' '  Dear,  good  old  Harley  P. !  He  'd  grub 
stake  you  if  it  broke  the  bank. ' ' 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  figure  along  that  line  at  any  rate. 
So,  if  you're  quite  ready,  Donna,  we'll  go  down  to  the 
court-house,  procure  the  license,  hunt  up  a  preacher  and 
take  each  other  for  better  or  for  worse." 

"I  think  it  will  be  for  better,  dear." 

"Well,  it  can't  be  for  worse,  I'm  sure,  than  it  is  to-day. 
Nevertheless  I'm  a  frightened  man." 

She  ignored  this  subtle  hint  of  procrastination.  "I'm 
ready,  Bob.  But  before  we  start,  there's  one  matter  that 
I  haven't  explained  to  you.  I  do  not  care  to  have  our 
marriage  known.  Those  talkative  people  in  San  Pasqual 
would — talk,  under  the  circumstances — that  is,  dear,  I  want 
to  keep  right  on  at  the  eating-house  until  you're  ready  to 
take  me  away  from  San  Pasqual  forever.  Now,  I  know 
that's  going  to  hurt  you — that  thought  of  your  wife  work 
ing — but  nobody  need  ever  know  it,  and  when  you  're  ready 
we'll  leave  the  horrible  old  place  and  never  go  back  any 
more.  We  have  so  much  to  do,  Bob,  and — " 

"You  do  hurt  me,  Donna"  he  protested.  "You  have 
exacted  from  me  a  promise  and  you  are  forcing  me  to  fulfill 
it  under  circumstances  which  render  it  mighty  hard.  Of 
course  we  love  each  other  and  I  do  want  to  marry  you,  but 
ah,  Donna,  I  don't  feel  like  a  man  to-day,  but  a  mendicant. 


196  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"What  can  I  do,  sweetheart  ?  If  you  marry  me  to-day  you '!) 
have  to  work  if  you  want  to  live."  There  was  misery  in 
his  glance.  "However,  all  my  life  I've  been  doing  thinga 
differently — or  rather  indifferently — so  why  should  I  stop 
now?  It  will  at  least  comfort  me  out  there  alone  in  the 
desert  to  know  that  I  have  a  wife  waiting  at  home  for  me. 
I  think  the  joy  of  that  will  outweigh  the  sting  of  shame 
that  a  married  pauper  must  feel — " 

"No,  no,  Bob,  you  mustn't  say  that.  You  mustn't  feel 
that  way  about  it.  You  are  not  a  pauper. ' '  She  stood  up 
and  he  helped  her  into  her  coat,  and  after  paying  th$ 
waitress  they  departed  together  for  the  city  hall. 

But  Bob  was  a  sad  bridegroom.  Donna  had  wired  him 
that  she  had  arranged  for  a  two-weeks'  vacation,  and  he 
had  been  at  pains  to  acquaint  her  with  the  extreme  low- 
ebb  of  his  finances,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  voluntarily 
suggest  a  delay  of  their  marriage,  but  to  his  great  distres* 
she  had  not  seen  fit  to  take  his  pathetic  hint — she  who  ordi~ 
narily  was  so  quick  of  comprehension ;  so,  rather  than  ref e* 
to  the  matter  again,  he  decided  to  step  into  a  telegraph 
station  immediately  after  the  ceremony  and  send  a  hurriecj 
call  for  help  to  Harley  P.  Hennage — the  gambler  being  th<* 
only  man  of  his  acquaintance  whom  he  knew  to  be  suffi 
ciently  good-natured  and  careless  with  money  to  respond 
to  his  appeal. 

When  at  length  they  reached  the  city  hall  Donna  waited, 
blushing,  outside  the  door  of  the  marriage  bureau  while 
Bob  entered  and  parted  with  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
for  the  parchment  which  gave  him  a  legal  right  to  commit 
what  he  called  a  social  and  economic  crime.  Later  he  came 
out  and  insisted  that  Donna  should  return  with  him  to 
Cupid 's  window,  there  to  receive  the  customary  congratula 
tions  and  handshake  from  Bob's  acquaintance  who  had 
issued  him  the  license,  and  who,  following  the  practice  of 
such  individuals,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  offer  his 
felicitations  to  every  customer. 

Leaving  the  court-house  Bob  and  Donna  wandered  about 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  197 

town  until  they  came  to  a  church.  A  gentleman  of  color, 
engaged  in  washing  the  church  windows,  directed  them  to 
the  pastor's  residence  in  the  next  block.  They  accordingly 
proceeded  to  the  rectory  and  Bob  rang  the  front  door  bell. 
The  pastor  answered  the  bell  in  person.  The  bridegroom 
grinned  at  him  sheepishly  while  the  bride,  very  much  em 
barrassed,  shrunk  to  the  bridegroom's  side  and  gazed  tim 
idly  at  the  reverend  gentleman  rubbing  his  hands  so  ex 
pectantly  in  the  doorway. 

' '  Won 't  you  come  in  ? "  he  said,  in  tones  most  kindly  and 
hospitable.  "Just  step  right  into  the  parlor  and  I'll  be 
with  you  as  soon  as  I  can  get  my  spectacles." 

' '  Thank  you ' '  said  Bob.  They  entered.  The  rector  went 
into  his  study  wrhile  Bob  wagged  a  knowing  head  at  his 
broad  retreating  back. 

"He  knows  what  we  want,  you  bet"  he  whispered.  "No 
flies  on  that  preacher.  I  like  him.  I  like  ar>y  man  who 
can  do  things  without  a  diagram  and  directions  for  using. ' ' 

Donna  nodded.  She  was  quite  impressed  at  the  clergy 
man's  perspicacity.  She  was  quite  self-possessed  when  he 
returned  with  his  spectacles,  a  little  black  book,  his  wife 
and  the  gardener  for  witnesses,  and  a  "  here-is-the- job-I- 
\ove ' '  expression  on  his  amiable  features.  He  examined  the 
license,  satisfied  himself,  apparently,  that  it  was  not  a 
forgery,  and  after  standing  Bob  and  Donna  up  in  a  corner 
close  to  a  terra-cotta  umbrella-holder  filled  with  pampas 
plumes,  he  proceeded  with  the  ceremony. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NOW,  to  the  man  in  whose  nature  there  is  a  broad 
streak  of  sentiment  and  who  looks  upon  his  mar 
riage  as  a  very  sacred,  solemn  and  lasting  cere 
mony,  no  speech  in  life  is  so  provocative  of  profound  emo 
tion  as  the  beautiful  interchange  of  vows  which  links  him 
to  the  woman  he  loves.  As  Bob  McGraw  stood  there,  hold 
ing  Donna's  soft  warm  hand  in  his,  so  hard  and  tanned, 
and  repeated :  "I,  Robert,  take  thee,  Donna,  for  my  lawful 
wife ;  to  have  and  to  hold,  from  this  day  forward,  for  better, 
for  worse,  for  richer,  for  poorer  (Here  Bob's  voice  trembled 
a  little.  "Why  should  this  question  of  finance  arise  to  smite 
him  in  the  midst  of  the  marriage  ceremony?),  in  sickness 
and  in  health,  until  death  us  do  part,"  his  breast  swelled 
and  a  mist  came  into  his  eyes.  His  voice  was  very  low  and 
husky  as  he  took  that  sacred  oath,  and  it  seemed  that  he 
stood  swaying  in  a  great  fog,  while  from  a  great  distance, 
yet  wonderfully  clear  and  firm  and  sweet,  Donna's  voice 
reached  him: 

"I,  Donna,  take  thee,  Robert,  for  my  lawful  husband — " 
and  the  minister  was  asking  him  for  a  ring. 

For  a  ring! 

Bob  started.  The  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  forehead! 
• — there  was  agony  in  his  brown  eyes.  In  the  sudden  reac 
tion  caused  by  that  awful  request,  he  blurted  out : 

"Oh,  Great  Grief,  Donna!     I  forgot  all  about  the  ring!" 

"I  didn't"  she  replied  softly.  From  her  hand-bag  she 
produced  a  worn  old  wedding  ring  (it  had  been  her  moth 
er's)  and  handed  it  to  Bob.  At  this  he  commenced  to 
regain  his  composure,  and  by  the  time  he  had  slipped  the 
ring  on  Donna's  finger  and  plighted  his  troth  for  aye,  all 
p£  his  troubles  and  worries  vanished.  The  minister  and  his 

193 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  199 

gardener  shook  hands  with  them,  and  the  minister's  wife 
kissed  Donna  and  gave  her  a  motherly  hug — primarily  be 
cause  she  looked  so  sweet  and  again  on  general  feminine 
principles.  Bob,  not  desiring  to  appear  cheap  on  this, 
the  greatest  day  in  history,  gave  the  minister  a  fee  of 
twenty  dollars,  and  five  minutes  later  found  himself  on 
the  sidewalk  with  his  wife,  rejoicing  in  the  knowledge  that 
he  had  at  least  justified  his  existence  and  joined  the  ranks 
o'  canny  married  men — the  while  he  strove  to  appear  as 
scornful  of  the  future  as  he  had  been  fearful  of  it  five 
minutes  before.  He  jingled  less  than  three  dollars  in  small 
change  in  his  vest  pocket,  and  while  he  strove  to  appear 
jaunty,  away  inside  of  him  he  was  a  worried  man.  He 
could  not  help  it. 

"Mrs.  McGraw"  he  said  finally,  "on  the  word  of  no  less 
a  personage  than  your  husband,  you're  some  bride." 

"Mr.  McGraw"  she  retorted,  "on  the  word  of  no  less  a 
personage  than  your  wife,  you  are  sortie  bridegroom.  "Why 
die1  you  forget  the  ring?" 

"Why  did  he  forget  the  ring?  Really,  it  did  seem  likely 
that  he  must  quarrel  with  his  wife  before  they  had  been 
carried  ten  minutes.  How  strangely  obtuse  she  was  to-day  I 

"Why,  Donna"  he  protested,  "how  should  I  know?  I 
never  was  married  before,  and  besides  I  was  thinking  of 
something  else  all  day."  He  slapped  his  vest  pocket  and 
cupped  a  hand  to  an  ear,  in  a  listening  attitude. 

"Did  you  hear  a  faint  jingle?"  he  queried  solemnly. 

She  pinched  his  arm,  interrupting  his  flow  of  nonsense. 
Women  who  dearly  love  their  husbands  delight  in  teasing  > 
them,  and  as  Donna  turned  her  radiant  face  to  his  Bob 
fancied  he  could  detect  a  secret  jest  peeping  at  him  from 
the  ceiled  shelter  of  her  drowsy-lidded  eyes.  Yes,  without 
a  doubt  she  was  laughing  at  him — and  he  as  poor  as  a 
church-mouse.  He  frowned. 

"This  is  no  laughing  matter,  Mrs.  McGraw." 

The  roguish  look  deepened. 

"Now,  what  else  have  I  done?"  he  demanded. 


200  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Nothing — yet.     But  you're  contemplating  it.5' 

''Contemplating  what?" 

"Telegraphing  Harley  P.  Hennage." 

"Friend  wife"  said  Bob  McGraw,  "you  should  hang  out 
your  shingle  as  a  seeress.  You  forecast  coming  events  so 
cleverly  that  perhaps  you  can  inform  me  whether  or  not 
we  are  to  walk  back  to  San  Pasqual,  living  like  gypsies 
en  route." 

"Why,  no,  stupid.  I  have  money  enough  for  our  honey 
moon.  ' ' 

"Donna"  he  began  sternly,  "if  I  had  thought — " 

"You  wouldn't  have  consented  to  such  a  hasty  marriage. 
Of  course.  I  knew  that — so  I  contrived  to  have  my  way 
about  it.  And  I  'm  going  to  have  my  way  about  this  honey 
moon,  too.  Five  minutes  ago  I  couldn't  have  offered  you 
money,  but  I  have  the  right  to  do  so  now.  But  I  would 
not  hurt  your  feelings  for  the  world.  I'll  loan  you  six 
hundred  dollars  on  approved  security." 

He  shook  his  head.  * '  You  can 't  mix  sentiment  and  busi 
ness,  Donna,  and  I  have  no  security.  Besides,  I'm  not 
quite  a  cad." 

' '  Oh,  very  well,  dear.  I  know  your  code  and  I  wouldn  't 
run  counter  to  it  for  a — well  for  a  water  right  in  Owens 
Valley — notwithstanding  the  fact  that  I  took  you  for  richer 
or  for  poorer.  And  I  did  figure  on  a  honeymoon,  Bob." 

He  threw  up  his  hands  in  token  of  submission.  "I'll 
accept"  he  said,  although  he  was  painfully  embarrassed. 
She  was  making  the  happiest  day  of  his  life  a  little  miser 
able,  and  for  the  first  time  he  experienced  a  fleeting  regret 
that  Donna's  ideals  were  not  formed  on  a  more  masculine 
basis.  By  the  exercise  of  her  compelling  power  over  him 
she  had  him  in  her  toils  and  he  was  helpless.  Nothing  re 
mained  for  him  to  do  save  make  the  best  of  a  situation,  the 
acceptance  of  which  filled  him  with  chagrin. 

"Don't  pull  such  a  dolorous  countenance,  Bob.  Why, 
your  face  is  as  long  as  Friar  Tuck's.  I  promise  I  will  not 
harass  you  with  the  taunt  that  you  married  me  for  my 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  201 

money.  In  fact,  my  husband,  it's  the  other  way  around. 
I  might  accord  you  that  privilege." 

She  drew  his  arm  through  hers.  "I  have  a  little  wed 
ding  present  for  you,  Bobby  dear ' '  she  began.  "  I  'm  going 
to  tell  you  a  little  story,  and  now  please  don't  interrupt. 
You  know  all  summer  you  were  up  in  the  mountains,  and 
after  that  you  were  rather  in  jail  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  where 
I  didn't  bring  you  any  newspapers.  Consequently,  from 
being  out  of  the  world  so  long,  you  haven 't  heard  the  latest 
news  about  Owens  Valley.  I  heard  it  before  you  left  San 
Pasqual,  but  I  wouldn't  tell  you.  I  wanted  to  keep  the 
news  for  a  wedding  present. 

' '  For  several  months  something  very  mysterious  has  been 
going  on  in  our  part  of  the  world.  There  has  been  a  force 
of  surveyors  and  engineers  in  the  valley  searching  for  a 
permanent  water  supply  for  some  great  purpose,  though 
nobody  can  guess  what  it  is.  But  it's  a  fact  that  a  pile  of 
money  has  been  spent  in  Long  Valley,  above  Owens  Valley, 
and  more  is  to  be  spent  if  it  can  buy  water.  The  chief 
engineer  of  the  outfit  read  in  the  paper  at  Independence  the 
account  of  your  filing  at  Cottonwood  Lake  and  he  has  had 
men  searching  for  you  ever  since.  One  of  them  called  to 
interview  you  at  San  Pasqual,  for,  like  T.  Morgan  Carey, 
they  had  traced  you  that  far.  He  came  into  the  eating- 
house  and  asked  me  if  I  knew  anybody  in  town  by  the  name 
of  Robert  McGraw.  I  told  him  I  did  not — which  wasn't  a 
fib  because  you  weren't  in  town  at  the  time.  You  were  in 
bed  at  the  Hat  Ranch.  An  engineer  was  with  him  and 
while  they  were  at  luncheon  I  overheard  them  discussing 
your  water-right.  The  engineer  declared  that  the  known 
feature  alone  made  the  location  worth  a  million  dollars. 
Do  you  like  my  wedding  present,  dear  ? ' ' 

He  pressed  her  arm  but  did  not  answer.     She  continued. 

"I  talked  over  the  matter  of  water  and  power  rights 
with  Harley  P.  and  he  says  they  will  pay  a  big  price  for 
anything-  like  you  have.  I  didn't  tell  him  you  owned  a 
power  and  water-right — just  mentioned  that  I  knew  a  man 


202  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

•who  owned  one.  Since  then  I've  been  reading  up  on  the 
subject  and  I  discovered  that  you  have  enough  water  to 
develop  three  times  the  acreage  you  plan  to  acquire.  One 
miner's  inch  to  the  acre  will  be  sufficient  in  that  country. 
So  you  see,  Bob,  you're  a  rich  man.  That  explains  why 
Carey  was  so  anxious  to  find  you.  He  wanted  to  buy  from 
'you  cheap  and  sell  to  those  people  dear.  Why,  you're  the 
queerest  kind  of  a  rich  man,  Bob.  You're  water  poor. 
Don't  you  see,  now,  why  you  can  take  my  money?  You 
have  three  times  more  water  than  you  need;  you  can  sell 
some  of  it — " 

Bob  paused,  facing  his  bride.  "And  you  knew  all  this 
a  month  ago  and  didn't  write  me?" 

"I  was  saving  it  for  to-day.  I  wanted  this  to  be  the 
happiest  day  of  our  lives." 

"Ah,  how  happy  you've  made  me!"  he  said.  His  voice 
trembled  just  a. little  and  Donna,  glancing  quickly  up  at 
him,  detected  a  suspicious  moisture  in  his  eyes. 

Until  that  moment  she  had  never  fully  realized  the  in 
tensity  of  the  man's  nature — the  extent  of  worry  and  suf 
fering  that  could  lie  behind  those  smiling  eyes  and  neve* 
show!  She  saw  that  a  great  burden  had  suddenly  been 
lifted  from  him,  and  with  the  necessity  for  further  dis 
sembling  removed,  his  strong  face  was  for  the  moment 
glorified.  She  realized  now  the  torture  to  which  she  had 
subjected  him  by  her  own  tenderness  and  repression ;  while 
their  marriage  had  been  a  marvelous — a  wonderful — event 
to  her,  to  him  it  had  been  fraught  with  terror,  despite  his 
great  love,  and  her  thoughts  harked  back  to  the  night  she 
and  Harley  P.  Hennage  had  carried  him  home  to  the  Hat 
Ranch.  Harley  P.  had  told  her  that  night  that  Bob  would 
" stand  the  acid."  How  well  he  could  stand  it,  only  she, 
who  had  applied  it,  would  ever  know. 

"Forgive  me,  dear"  she  faltered.  "If  I  had  only  real 
ized—" 

"Isn't  it  great  to  be  married?"  he  queried.     "And  to 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  203 

think  I  was  afraid  to  face  it  without  the  price  of  a  honey 
moon  ! ' ' 

' '  You  won 't  have  to  worry  any  more.  You  're  rich.  You 
can  sell  half  the  water  and  we  will  never  go  back  to  San 
Pasqual  any  more." 

His  face  clouded.     "I  can't  do  that"  he  said  doggedly. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  frightened. 

"Because  I'll  need  every  drop  of  it.  I've  started  a  fight 
and  I'm  going  to  finish  it.  You  told  me  once  that  if  I 
sold  out  my  Pagans  for  money  to  marry  you,  you'd  be 
disappointed  in  me — that  if  I  should  start  something  that 
was  big  and  noble  and  worthy  of  me,  I  'd  have  to  go  through 
to  the  finish.  Donna,  I'm  going  through.  I  may  lose  on 
a  foul,  but  I  'm  not  fighting  for  a  draw  decision.  I  schemed 
for  thirty-two  thousand  acres,  and  if  I  get  that  I  have  the 
land  ring  blocked.  But  there  are  hundreds — thousands — 
of  acres  further  south  that  I  can  reach  with  my  canals, 
and  I  cannot  rest  content  with  a  half-way  job.  The  land 
ring  cannot  grab  the  desert  south  of  Donnaville,  because 
they  haven't  sufficient  water,  and  if  they  had  I  wouldn't 
give  them  a  right  of  way  through  my  land  for  their  canals, 
and  I  wouldn't  sell  water  to  their  dummy  entrymen.  I 
want  that  valley  for  the  men  who  have  never  had  a  chance. 
I've  got  the  water  and  it's  mine  in  trust  for  posterity.  It 
belongs  to  Inyo  and  I'm  going  to  keep  it  there." 

She  did  not  reply.  When  they  reached  the  hotel,  instead 
of  registering,  as  Donna  expected  he  would,  Bob  went  to 
the  baggage-room  and  secured  her  suit-case  which  he  had 
checked  there  two  hours  before.  She  watched  him  with 
brimming  eyes,  but  with  never  a  word  of  complaint.  He 
was  right,  and  if  the  two  weeks'  honeymoon  that  she  had 
planned  was  not  to  be,  it  was  she  who  had  prevented  it. 
She  had  set  her  husband  a  mighty  task  and  bade  him  finish 
it,  and  despite  the  pain  and  disappointment  of  a  return  to 
San  Pasqual  the  same  day  she  had  left  it,  a  secret  joy 
mingled  with  her  bitterness. 


204  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

Poor  Donna!  She  was  proud  and  happy  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  her  husband  had  proved  himself  equal  to  the 
task,  but  she  found  it  hard,  very  hard,  to  be  a  Pagan  on 
her  wedding  day. 

Bob  brought  their  baggage  and  set  it  by  her  side. 
"Watch  it  for  a  few  minutes,  Donna,  please"  he  said.  "I 
forgot  something." 

He  found  a  seat  for  her  and  she  waited  until  his  re 
turn. 

' '  Have  you  got  that  six  hundred  with  you,  Donna  ? "  he 
asked  gravely. 

She  opened  her  hand-bag  and  showed  Iiim  a  roll  of  twenty 
dollar  pieces. 

' '  Good ' '  he  replied,  in  the  same  grave,  even  tones.  ' '  Here 
is  my  promissory  note,  at  seven  per  cent,  for  the  amount, 
payable  one  day  after  date,  and  this  other  document  is  an 
assignment  of  a  one-half  interest  in  my  water-right,  to 
secure  the  payment  of  my  note." 

He  handed  them  to  her.  In  silence  she  gave  him  the 
money. 

"Are  you  quite  ready,  Donna?  I  think  we  had  better 
start  now ' '  he  said. 

She  nodded.  She  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak  for  the 
sobs  that  crowded  in  her  throat.  He  observed  the  tears 
and  stooped  over  her  tenderly. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  little  wife?" 

' '  It 's — it 's — a  little  hard — to  have  to  give  up — our  honey 
moon"  she  quavered. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Donna  Corblay  Robert  McGraw!  Is  that 
the  trouble?  Well,  you're  a  model  Pagan  and  I'm  proud 
of  you,  but  you  don't  know  the  Big  Chief  Pagan  after  all! 
Why,  we're  not  going  back  to  San  Pasqual  for  a  week  or 
ten  days.  I  was  so  busy  thinking  of  all  I  have  to  do  that 
I  must  have  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  we're  going  up  to 
the  Yosemite  Valley  on  our  honeymoon.  I  want  to  show 
my  wife  some  mountains  with  grass  and  trees  on  them — 
the  meadows  and  the  Merced  river  and  the  wonderful 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  205 

waterfalls,  the  birds  and  the  bees  and  all  the  other  won 
derful  sights  she's  been  dreaming  of  all  her  life. 

She  carefully  tore  the  promissory  note  and  the  assign-^ 
ment  of  interest  into  little  bits  and  let  them  flutter  to  the 
floor.  The  tears  were  still  quivering  on  her  beautiful 
lashes,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy,  now,  and  her  sense  of 
humor  had  come  to  her  rescue. 

"Foolish  man"  she  retorted,  "don't  you  realize  that 
one  cannot  mix  sentiment  and  business?  Be  sensible,  my 
tall  husband.  You're  so  impulsive.  Please  register  and 
have  that  baggage  sent  up  to  our  room,  and  then  let  me 
have  a  hundred  dollars.  I  want  to  spend  it  on  a  dandy 
tailored  suit  and  some  other  things  that  I  shall  require  on 
»ur  honeymoon.  In  all  my  life  I  have  never  been  shop 
ping,  and  I  want  to  be  happy  to-day — all  day." 

"Tell  you  what  we'll  do"  he  suggested.  "Let's  not 
think  of  the  future  at  all.  I'm  tired  of  this  to-morrow 
bugaboo. ' ' 

"I'm  not.    We're  going  honeymooning  to-morrow." 

Harley  P.  Hennage  had  at  length  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
most  virulent  disease  in  San  Pasqual.  For  two  days  he 
had  been  consumed  with  curiosity;  on  the  third  day  he 
realized  that  unless  the  mystery  of  Donna  Corblay's  ab 
sence  from  her  job  could  be  satisfactorily  explained  by  the 
end  of  the  week,  he  would  furnish  a  description  of  Donna 
to  a  host  of  private  detectives,  with  instructions  to  spare 
no  expense  in  locating  her,  dead  or  alive. 

Donna's  absence  from  the  eating-house  the  first  day  had 
aroused  no  suspicion  in  Mr.  Hennage 's  mind.  It  was  her 
day  off,  and  he  knew  this.  But  when  Mr.  Hennage  ap 
peared  in  the  eating-house  for  his  meals  the  day  following, 
Donna's  absence  from  the  cashier's  desk  impelled  him  to 
mild  speculation,  and  when  on  the  third  morning  he  came 
in  to  breakfast  purposely  late  only  to  find  Donna's  substi 
tute  still  on  duty,  he  realized  that  the  time  for  action  had 
arrived. 


206  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"That  settles  it"  he  murmured  into  his  second  cup  of 
coffee.  "That  poor  girl  is  sick  and  nobody  in  town  gives 
three  whoops  in  a  holler.  I'll  just  run  down  to  the  Hat 
Ranch  to-night  an'  see  if  I  can't  do  somethin'  for  her." 

Which,  safe  under  cover  of  darkness,  he  accordingly  did. 
At  the  Hat  Ranch  Mr.  Hennage  was  informed  by  Sam 
Singer  that  his  young  mistress  had  boarded  the  train  for 
Bakersfield  three  days  previous,  after  informing  Sam  and 
his  squaw  that  she  would  not  return  for  two  weeks.  Un 
der  Mr.  Hennage 's  critical  cross-examination  Soft  Wind 
furnished  the  information  that  Donna  had  taken  her  white 
suit  and  all  of  her  best  clothes. 

"Ah,"  murmured  Mr.  Hennage,  "as  the  feller  says,  I 
apprehend. ' ' 

He  did,  indeed.  A  great  light  had  suddenly  burst  upon 
Mr.  Hennage.  Both  by  nature  and  training  he  was  pos 
sessed  of  the  ability  to  assimilate  a  hint  without  the  ac 
companiment  of  a  kick,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
the  situation  was  as  plain  to  him  as  four  aces  and  a  king, 
with  the  entire  company  standing  pat. 

He  smote  his  thigh.  "Well  I'll  be  ding-swizzled  and 
everlastingly  flabbergasted.  Lit  out  to  gel;  married  an* 
never  said  a  word  to  nobody.  Pulls  out  o'  town,  dressed 
in  her  best  suit  o'  clothes,  like  old  man  MeGinty,  an'  heads 
north.  Uh-huh!.  Bob  McGraw's  at  the  bottom  o'  this. 
He  started  south  the  day  before,  an'  he  ain't  arrived  in 
San  Pasqual  yet." 

He  sat  down  at  Donna's  kitchen  table  and  drew  a  letter 
and  a  telegram  from  his  pocket. 

"Huh!  Huh-hum-m-m !  Writes  me  on  Monday  from 
Sacramento  that  he's  busted,  an'  to  send  him  a  money 
order  to  San  Francisco,  General  Delivery.  Letter  post 
marked  ten  thirty  A.  M.  Then  he  wires  me  from  Stockton, 
the  same  day,  to  disregard  letter  an'  telegraph  him  fifty 
at  Stockton.  Telegram  received  about  one  P.  M.  Well, 
sir,  that  tells  the  story.  The  young  feller  flopped  by  the 
wayside  an'  spent  his  last  blue  chip  on  this  telegram.  I 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  207 

wire  him  the  fifty,  he  wires  her  to  meet  him  in  Bakersfield, 
most  likely,  an'  they're  goin'  to  get  married  on  my  fifty 
dollars.  On  my  fifty  dollars!" 

Mr.  Hennage  looked  up  from  the  telegram  and  fastened 
upon  Sam  Singer  an  inquiring  look,  as  if  he  expected  the 
Indian  to  inform  him  what  good  reason,  if  any,  existed, 
why  Bob  McGraw  should  not  immediately  be  apprehended 
by  the  proper  authorities  and  confined  forthwith  in  a 
padded  cell. 

"I  do  wish  that  dog-gone  boy'd  took  me  into  his  confi 
dence"  mourned  the  gambler,  "but  that's  always  the  way. 
Nobody  ever  trusts  me  with  nuthin'.  Damn  it!  Fifty 
dollars!  I'll  give  that  Bob  hell  for  this — a-marryin*  that 
fine  girl  on  a  shoestring  an '  me  a-hangin '  around  town  with 
upward  o'  six  thousand  iron  men  in  the  kitty.  It  ain't 
fair.  If  they  was  married  in  San  Pasqual  I  wouldn't  butt 
in  nohow,  but  bein'  married  some  place  else,  where  none 
of  us  is  known,  I'd  a  took  a  chance  an'  butted  in.  I  ain't 
one  o'  the  presumin'  kind,  but  if  I'd  a-been  asked  I'd 
a-butted  in!  You  can  bet  your  scalp,  Sam,  if  I'd  a-had 
the  givin'  away  o'  that  blushin'  bride,  I'd  'a  shoved  across 
a  stack  o'  blue  chips  with  her  that'd  'a  set  them  young 
folks  on  their  feet.  Oh,  hell's  bells!  If  that  ain't  plumb 
removin'  the  limit!  Sam,  you'd  orter  be  right  thankful 
you're  only  an  Injun.  If  you  was  a  human  bein'  you'd 
know  what  it  is  to  have  your  f eelin  's  hurt. ' ' 

He  smote  the  table  with  his  fist.  "Serves  me  right"  he 
growled.  "There  ain't  no  fun  in  life  for  a  man  that  lives 
off  the  weaknesses  of  other  people,"  and  with  this  self- 
accusing  remark  Mr.  Hennage,  feeling  slighted  and  neg 
lected,  returned  to  his  game  in  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon. 
He  was  preoccupied  and  unhappy,  and  that  night  he  lost 
five  hundred  dollars. 

Bright  and  early  next  morning,  however,  the  gambler 
went  to  the  public  telephone  station  and  called  up  the  prin 
cipal  hotel  in  Bakersfield.  He  requested  speech  with  either 
Mr.  or  Mrs.  Robert  McGraw.  After  some  delay  he  was 


208  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

informed  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McGraw  had  left  the  day 
before,  without  leaving  a  forwarding  address. 

"Well,  I  won't  say  nothin'  about  it  until  they  do"  was 
the  conclusion  at  which  Mr.  Henuage  finally  arrived.  ' '  Of 
course  it's  just  possible  I  happened  across  the  trail  of 
another  family  o'  McGraws,  but  I'm  layin'  two  to  one  I 
didn't." 

And  having  thus  ferreted  out  Donna's  secret,  Harley  P., 
like  a  true  sport,  proceeded  to  forget  it.  He  moused  around 
the  post-office  a  little  and  put  forth  a  few  discreet  feelers 
here  and  there,  in  order  to  discover  whether  San  Pasqual, 
generally  speaking,  was  at  all  interested.  He  discovered 
that  it  was  not.  In  fact,  in  all  oan  Pasqual  the  only  in 
terested  person  was  Mrs.  Pennycook,  who  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief  at  the  thought  that  her  Dan  was,  for  the  nonce, 
outside  the  sphere  of  Donna's  influence. 

In  the  meantime  Donna  and  Bob,  in  the  beautiful  Yo- 
semite,  rode  and  tramped  through  ten  glorious,  blissful 
days.  It  would  be  impossible  to  attempt  to  describe  in 
adequate  fashion  the  delights  of  that  honeymoon.  To 
Donna,  so  suddenly  transported  from  the  glaring  drab 
lifeless  desert  to  this  great  natural  park,  the  first  sight  of 
the  valley  had  been  a  glimpse  into  Paradise.  She  was 
awed  by  the  sublimity  of  nature,  and  all  that  first  day 
she  hardly  spoke,  even  to  Bob.  Such  happiness  was  un 
believable.  She  was  almost  afraid  to  speak,  lest  she  awaken 
and  find  herself  back  in  San  Pasqual.  As  for  Bob,  he  had 
resolutely  set  himself  to  the  task  of  forgetting  the  future 
— at  least  during  their  honeymoon.  He  forgot  about  the 
thirty-nine  thousand  dollars  he  required,  he  forgot  about- 
Donnaville;  and  had  even  the  most  lowly  of  his  Pagans 
interfered  with  his  happiness  for  one  single  fleeting  sec 
ond,  Mr.  MeGraw  would  assuredly  have  slain  him  instanter 
and  then  laughed  at  the  tragedy. 

it  was  very  late  in  the  season  and  the  vivid  green  which 
comes  with  spring  had  departed  from  the  valley.  But  if 
it  had,  so  also  had  the  majority  of  tourists,  and  Bob  and 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  209 

Donna  had  the  hotel  largely  to  themselves.  Each  day  they 
journeyed  to  some  distant  portion  of  the  valley,  carrying 
their  luncheon,  and  returning  at  nightfall  to  the  hotel. 
After  dinner  they  would  sit  together  on  the  veranda,  watch 
ing  the  moon  rise  over  the  rim  of  that  wonderful  valley, 
listening  to  the  tree-toads  in  noisy  convention  or  hearkening 
to  the  ''plunk"  of  a  trout  leaping  in  the  river  below. 
Hardly  a  breath  of  air  stirred  in  the  valley.  All  was  peace. 
It  was  an  Eden. 

On  the  last  night  of  their  stay,  Bob  broached  for  the 
first  time  the  subject  of  their  future. 

"We  must  start  for — for  home  to-morrow,  Donna"  he 
said.  "At  least  you  must.  You  have  a  home  to  go  to. 
As  for  me,  I've  got  to  go  into  the  desert  and  strike  one 
final  blow  for  Donna ville.  I've  got  to  take  one  more  long 
chance  for  a  quick  little  fortune  before  I  give  up  and  sell 
my  Pagans  into  bondage." 

"Yes"  she  replied  heedlessly.  She  had  him  with  her 
now ;  the  shadow  of  impending  separation  had  not  yet  fallen 
upon  her. 

"What  are  your  plans,  Donna?"  he  asked. 

"My  plans?" 

' '  Yes.     Is  it  still  your  intention  to  keep  on  working  ? ' ' 

"Why  not?  I  must  do  something.  I  must  await  you 
somewhere,  so  why  not  at  San  Pasqual?  It  is  cheaper 
there  and  it  will  help  if  I  can  be  self-supporting  until  you 
come  back.  Besides,  I'd  rather  work  than  sit  idle  around 
the  Hat  Ranch." 

He  made  no  reply  to  this.  He  had  already  threshed  the 
matter  over  in  his  mind  and  there  was  no  answer. 

"I'll  accompany  you  as  far  as  San  Pasqual,  Donna. 
We  '11  go  south  to-morrow  and  arrive  at  San  Pasqual,  shortly 
after  dark.  I'll  escort  you  to  the  Hat  Ranch,  change  into 
my  desert  togs,  saddle  Friar  Tuck  and  light  out.  I'll  ride 
to  Keeler  and  sell  horse  and  saddle  and  spurs  there.  At 
Keeler  I'll  buy  two  burros  and  outfit  for  my  trip;  then 
strike  east,  via  Darwin  or  Coso  Springs." 


210  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"How  long  will  you  be  in  the  desert?" 

"About  six  months,  I  think.  I'll  come  out  late  in  th« 
spring  when  it  begins  to  get  real  hot.  Do  you  think  you 
can  wait  that  long?" 

"I  think  so.  "Will  it  be  possible  for  me  to  write  to  yom 
in  the  meantime  ? ' ' 

"Perhaps.  I'll  leave  word  in  the  miners'  outfitting 
store  at  Danby  and  you  can  address  me  there.  Then,  if 
some  prospector  should  be  heading  out  my  way  they'll 
send  out  my  letters.  My  claims  are  forty  miles  from 
Danby,  over  near  Old  Woman  mountain.  If  I  meet  any 
prospectors  going  out  toward  the  railroad,  I'll  write  you." 

"The  days  will  be  very  long  until  you  come  back,  dear, 
but  I'll  be  patient.  I  realize  what  it  means  to  you,  and 
Donnaville  is  worth  the  sacrifice.  You  know  I  told  you 
I  wanted  to  help." 

"You  are  helping — more  than  you  realize.  You'll  b« 
safe  until  I  get  back?" 

"  I  've  always  been  safe  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  but  if  I  should 
need  a  friend  I  can  call  on  Harley  P.  He  isn't  one  of  the 
presuming  kind" — Donna  smiled — "but  he  will  stand  the 
acid." 

"And  you  will  not  worry  if  you  do  not  receive  any  let 
ters  from  me  all  the  time  I  am  away  ? ' ' 

"I  shall  know  what  to  expect,  Bob,  so  I  shall  not  worry 
— very  much." 

They  left  the  Yosemite  early  next  morning,  staging  down 
to  El  Portal,  and  shortly  after  dusk  the  same  evening  they 
arrived  at  San  Pasqual.  There  were  few  people  at  the 
station  when  the  train  pulled  in,  and  none  that  Donna 
knew,  except  the  station  agent  and  his  assistants;  and  as 
these  worthies  were  busy  up  at  the  baggage  car,  Bob  and 
Donna  alighted  at  the  rear  end  and  under  the  friendly 
cover  of  darkness  made  their  way  down  to  the  Hat  Ranch. 

Sam  Singer  and  Soft  "Wind  had  not  yet  retired,  and 
after  seeing  his  bride  safe  in  her  home  once  more.  Bob 
McGraw  prepared  to  leave  her. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  211 

She  was  sorely  tempted,  at  that  final  test  of  separation, 
to  plead  with  him  to  abandon  his  journey,  to  stay  with  her 
and  their  new-found  happiness  and  leave  to  another  the 
gigantic  task  of  reclaiming  the  valley.  It  was  such  a  for 
lorn  hope,  after  all;  she  began  to  question  his  right  to 
stake  their  future  against  that  of  persons  to  whom  he  owed 
no  allegiance,  until  she  remembered  that  a  great  work  must 
ever  require  great  sacrifice;  that  her  share  in  this  sacrifice 
was  little,  indeed,  compared  with  his.  Moreover,  he  had 
set  his  face  to  this  task  before  he  had  met  her — she  would 
not  be  worthy  of  him  if  she  asked  him  to  abandon  it 
now. 

"I  must  go"  he  said  huskily.  "The  moon  will  be  up 
by  ten  o'clock  and  I  can  make  better  time  traveling  by 
moonlight  than  I  can  after  sun-up." 

She  clung  to  him  for  one  breathless  second;  then,  with 
a  final  caress  she  sent  him  forth  to  battle  for  his  Pagans. 

She  was  back  at  the  cashier's  counter  in  the  eating- 
house  the  next  morning  when  Harley  P.  Hennage  came  in 
for  his  breakfast. 

"Hello,  Miss  Donna"  the  unassuming  one  greeted  her 
cordially.  ' '  Where  've  you  been  an '  when  did  you  get  back 
to  San  Pasqual  ?  Why,  I  like  to  'a  died  o '  grief.  Thought 
you'd  run  away  an'  got  married  an'  left  us  for  good." 

He  watched  her  narrowly  and  noted  the  little  blush 
that  marked  the  landing  of  his  apparently  random  shot. 

"I've  been  away  on  my  first  vacation.  Went  up  to  Yo- 
semite  Valley.  I  got  back  last  night." 

"Glad  of  it"  replied  Mr.  Hennage  heartily.  "Enjoy 
yourself  ? ' ' 

"It  was  glorious." 

He  talked  with  her  for  a  few  minutes,  then  waddled  to 
his  favorite  seat  and  ordered  his  ham  and  eggs. 

"Well,  she  didn't  fib  to  me,  at  any  rate,  even  if  she 
didn't  tell  the  whole  truth"  he  soliloquized.  "But  what's 
chewin'  the  soul  out  o'  me  is  this:  'How  in  Sam  Hill 
did  they  make  fifty  dollars  go  that  far?'  If  I  was  gettin' 


212  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

married,  fifty  dollars  wouldn't  begin  to  pay  for  the  first 
round  o'  drinks." 

It  had  not  escaped  the  gambler's  observing  eye  that 
Donna  had  been  crying,  so  immediately  after  breakfast 
Mr.  Hennage  strolled  over  to  the  feed  corral,  leaned  his 
arms  on  the  top  rail  and  carefully  scanned  the  herd  of 
horses  within. 

Bob  McGraw's  little  roan  cayuse  was  gone! 

"Well,  if  that  don't  beat  the  Dutch!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Hennage  disgustedly.  "If  that  young  feller  ain't  one  fool 
of  a  bridegroom,  a-runnin'  away  from  his  bride  like  this! 
For  quick  moves  that  feller's  got  the  California  flea  faded 
to  a  whisper.  Two  weeks  ago  he  was  a-practicin'  law  in 
Sacramento,  a-puttin'  through  a  deal  in  lieu  lands;  then 
he  jumps  to  Stockton  an'  wires  me  for  fifty  dollars;  then 
he  hops  to  Bakersfield  an'  gits  married,  after  which  he 
lands  in  the  Yosemite  Valley  on  his  honeymoon.  From 
there  he  jumps  to  San  Pasqual,  an'  from  San  Pasqual  he 
fades  away  into  the  desert  an'  leaves  his  bride  at  home 
a-weepin'  an'  a-cryin'.  I  don't  understand  this  business 
nohow,  an'  I'll  be  dog-goned  if  I'm  a-goin'  to  try.  It's 
too  big  an  order." 

Three  days  later  Harley  P.  Hennage  wished  that  he  had 
not  been  so  inquisitive.  That  glance  into  the  feed  corral 
was  to  cost  him  many  a  pang  and  many  a  dollar ;  for,  with 
rare  exceptions,  there  is  no  saying  so  true  as  this:  that  a 
little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing. 


CHAPTER  XV 

(HE  once  prosperous  mining  camp  of  Garlock  is  a 
name  and  a  memory  now.  Were  it  not  that  the 
railroad  has  been  built  in  from  San  Pasqual  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  miles  up  country  through  the  Mojave,  Gar- 
lock  would  be  a  memory  only.  But  some  official  of  the 
road,  imbued,  perhaps,  with  a  remnant  of  sentimental  re 
gret  for  the  fast-vanishing  glories  of  the  past,  has  caused 
to  be  erected  beside  the  track  a  white  sign  carrying  the 
word  Garlock  in  black  letters ;  otherwise  one  would  scarcely 
realize  that  once  a  thriving  camp  stood  in  the  sands  back 
of  this  sign-board  of  the  past.  Even  in  the  days  when  the 
stage  line  operated  between  San  Pasqual  and  Keeler,  Gar- 
lock  had  run  its  race  and  the  Argonauts  had  moved  on, 
leaving  the  rusty  wreck  of  an  old  stamp-mill,  the  decayed 
fragments  of  half  a  dozen  pine  shanties  and  a  few  adobe 
casm  r*;th  the  sod  roofs  fallen  in. 

There  a~e  a  few  deep  uncovered  wells  in  this  deserted 
camp,  filthy  with  the  rotting  carcasses  of  desert  animals 
which  have  crawled  down  these  wells  for  life — and  remained 
for  death.  But  no  human  being  resides  in  Garlock.  It 
is  a  sad  and  lonely  place.  The  hills  that  rise  back  of  the 
ruins  are  scarlet  with  oxide  of  iron;  in  the  sheen  of  the 
westering  sun  they  loom  harsh  and  repellent,  provocative 
of  the  thought  that  from  the  very  inception  of  Garlock 
their  crests  have  been  the  arena  of  murder — spattered  with 
the  blood  of  the  hardy  men  who  made  the  camp  and  then 
deserted  it. 

Therefore,  one  would  not  be  surprised  at  anything  hap 
pening  in  Garlock — where  it  would  seem  a  wanton  waste  of 
imagination  to  look  forward  to  anything  happening — yet, 
at  about  noon  of  the  day  that  Harley  P.  Hennage  looked 
over  the  rail  fence  into  the  feed  corral  at  San  Pasqual  and 

213 


214  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

discovered  that  Bob  McGraw's  horse  was  gone,  a  man  on 
a  tired  horse  rode  up  from  the  south,  turned  in  through 
the  ruined  doorway  of  one  of  the  roofless  tumble-down 
adobe  houses,  and  concealed  himself  and  his  horse  in  the 
area  formed  by  the  four  crumbling  walls. 

He  dismounted,  unsaddled  and  rubbed  down  his  dripping 
,horse  with  handfuls  of  the  withered  grasses  that  grew 
within  the  ruins.  Next,  the  man  hunted  through  Garlock 
until  he  found  an  old  rusty  kerosene  can  with  a  wire  han 
dle  fitted  through  it,  and  to  this  he  fastened  a  long  horse 
hair  hitching  rope  and  drew  water  from  one  of  the  filthy 
wells.  The  horse  drank  greedily  and  nickered  reproach 
fully  when  the  man  informed  him  that  he  must  cool  off 
before  being  allowed  to  drink  his  fill. 

For  an  hour  the  man  sat  on  his  saddle  and  smoked; 
then,  after  drawing  several  cans  of  water  for  the  horse,  he 
spread  the  saddle-blanket  on  the  ground  and  poured  thereon 
a  feed  of  oats  from  a  meager  supply  cached  on  the  saddle. 
From  the  saddle-bags  he  produced  a  sm^ll  can  of  roast 
beef  and  some  dry  bread,  which  he  "cashed  down"  with 
water  from  his  canteen  while  the  horse  munched  at  the 
oats. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  man  stepped  to  the  ruined 
doorway  and  looked  south.  Three  miles  away  a  splotch 
of  dust  hung  high  in  the  still  atmosphere;  beneath  it  a 
black  object  was  crawling  steadily  toward  Garlock.  It  was 
the  up  stage  from  San  Pasqual  for  Keeler,  and  the  stranger 
in  Garlock  had  evidently  been  awaiting  its  arrival,  for  he 
dodged  back  into  the  enclosure,  saddled  his  horse,  gathered 
up  his  few  belongings  and  seemed  prepared  to  evacuate  at  a 
moment 's  notice.  He  peered  out,  as  the  old  Concord  coach 
lurched  through  the  sand  past  the  bones  of  Garlock,  and 
observed  the  express  messenger  nodding  a  little  wearily, 
his  eyes  half  closed  in  protest  against  the  glare  of  earth 
and  sky. 

Suddenly  the  express  messenger  started,  and  looked  up. 
He  had  a  haunting  impression  that  somebody  was  watching 


THE  LONG  CHANCE 

him — and  he  was  not  mistaken.  Over  the  crest  of  an  adobe 
wall  he  saw  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man.  Also  he 
saw  one  of  the  man 's  hands.  It  contained  a  long  blue- 
barreled  automatic  pistol,  which  was  pointed  at  him.  From 
behind  a  mask  fashioned  from  a  blue  bandanna  handker 
chief  came  the  expected  summons: 

"Hands  up!" 

The  driver  pulled  up  his  horses  and  jammed  down  the 
brake.  The  express  messenger,  surprised,  hesitated  a  mo 
ment  between  an  impulse  to  obey  the  stern  command  and 
a  desire  to  argue  the  matter  with  his  sawed-off  shotgun. 
The  man  behind  the  wall,  instantly  realizing  that  he  must 
be  impressive  at  all  cost,  promptly  fired  and  lifted  the 
pipe  out  of  the  messenger's  mouth.  The  latter  swore,  and 
his  arms  went  over  his  head  in  a  twinkling. 

"Don't  do  that  again"  he  growled.  "I  know  when  a 
man's  got  the  drop  on  me." 

"I  was  afraid  your  education  had  been  neglected"  the 
hold-up  man  retorted  pleasantly.  "Throw  out  the  box! 
No,  not  you.  The  driver  will  throw  it  out.  You  keep 
your  hands  up." 

The  express  box  dropped  into  the  greasewood  beside  the 
trail  with  a  heavy  metallic  thud  that  augured  a  neat  profit 
for  the  man  behind  the  wall. 

"The  passengers  will  please  alight  on  this  side  of  the 
stage,  turn  their  pockets  inside  out  and  deposit  their  coin 
on  top  of  the  box"  continued  the  road  agent.  "My  friend 
with  the  spike  beard  and  the  gold  eye-glasses!  You 
dropped  something  on  the  bed  of  the  stage.  Pick  it  up, 
if  you're  anxious  to  retain  a  whole  hide.  Thank  you! 
That  pocketbook  looks  fat.  Now,  one  at  a  time  and  no 
crowding.  Omit  the  jewelry.  I  want  cash." 

The  highwayman  continued  to  discourse  affably  with  his 
victims  while  the  little  pile  of  coin  and  bills  on  top  of  the 
box  grew  steadily.  "When  it  was  evident  that  the  job  was 
complete  he  ordered  the  passengers  back  into  the  stage  and 
addressed  the  driver. 


216  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Drive  right  along  now  and  remember  that  it's  a  sure 
sign  of  bad  luck  to  look  back.  I  have  a  rifle  with  me  and 
I'm  considered  a  very  fair  shot  up  to  five  hundred  yards. 
Remember  that — you  with  the  sawed-off  shotgun ! ' ' 

"Good-by"  replied  the  messenger.  "See  you  later,  I 
hope." 

The  horses  sprang  to  the  crack  of  the  driver's  whip,  and 
the  stage  rolled  north  on  its  journey.  When  it  was  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  away  the  man  behind  the  wall  came  out  into 
the  road  and  shot  the  padlock  off  the  express  box,  trans 
ferred  the  fruits  of  his  industry  to  his  saddle-bags,  mounted 
and  rode  out  of  Garlock  across  the  desert  valley,  headed 
northeast  for  Johannesburg. 

As  he  rode  out  into  the  open  a  rifle  cracked  and  a  bullet 
whined  over  him.  He  glanced  in  the  direction  whence  the 
sound  of  the  shot  came  and  observed  a  man  on  a  white 
horse  riding  rapidly  toward  him.  The  bandit  suddenly 
remembered  that  the  off  leader  on  the  stage  team  was 
white. 

"Old  man,  you're  as  clever  as  you  are  brave"  muttered 
the  bandit  admiringly.  "You  unhook  the  off  leader  while 
I'm  monkeying  with  the  box,  dig  up  a  rifle  and  come  for 
me  riding  bareback.  "Well,  I'm  not  out  to  kill  anybody 
if  I  can  help  it,  and  my  horse  has  had  a  nice  rest.  I  '11  run 
for  it." 

He  did.  The  rifle  cracked  again  and  the  bandit's  wide- 
brimmed  hat  rose  from  his  head  and  sailed  away  into  the 
sage.  He  looked  back  at  it  a  trifle  dubiously,  but  he  knew 
better  than  to  stop  to  recover  that  hat,  in  the  face  of  such 
close  snap-shooting.  That  express  messenger  was  too 
deadly — and  too  game;  so  the  bandit  merely  spurred  his 
horse,  lay  low  on  his  neck  and  swept  across  the  desert. 
"When  he  came  to  a  little  swale  between  some  sandhills  he 
dipped  into  it,  pulled  up,  dismounted  and  waited.  The 
sun  was  setting  behind  the  gory  hills  now,  and  glinted  on 
a  rifle  which  the  bandit  drew  from  a  gun-boot  which  » 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  217 

broad  sweat  leather  half  concealed.  It  was  better  shooting< 
light  now ;  distances  were  not  quite  so  deceptive. 

Suddenly  the  man  on  the  white  horse  appeared  on  the 
crest  of  a  distant  sand-hill.  The  outlaw,  leaning  his  rifle 
across  his  horse's  back,  sighted  carefully  and  fired;  the 
white  horse  went  to  his  knees  and  his  rider  leaped  clear. 
Instantly  the  pursued  man  vaulted  into  his  saddle  and 
rode  furiously  away.  A  dozen  shots  whipped  the  sage 
around  him;  one  of  them  notched  the  ear  of  his  straining 
mount,  but  in  the  end  the  bullets  dropped  short,  the  sun 
set,  and  through  the  gathering  gloom  the  outlaw  jogged 
easily  up  the  long  sandy  slope  toward  Johannesburg.  It 
was  quite  dark  when  he  rode  around  the  town  to  the  north, 
circled  through  the  range  back  of  Fremont's  Peak  and 
headed  out  across  Miller's  Dry  Lake,  bound  for  Barstow. 

As  for  the  express  messenger,  he  removed  the  bridle  from 
his  dead  horse  and  trudged  back  to  the  waiting  coach.  On 
the  way  he  back-tracked  the  outlaw's  trail  until  he  came 
to  the  man's  hat,  which  he  appropriated. 

Donna  Corblay  was  at  the  eating-house  when  the  first 
down  stage  from  Keeler  came  into  San  Pasqual  with  the 
news  of  the  hold-up  at  Garlock  the  day  before.  The  town 
was  abuzz  with  excitement  for  an  hour,  when  the  news 
became  stale.  After  all,  stage  hold-ups  were  not  infre 
quent  in  that  country,  and  Donna  paid  no  particular  heed 
to  the  commonplace  occurrence  until  the  return  to  San 
Pasqual  two  days  later  of  the  stage  which  had  been  robbed. 

The  express  messenger  told  her  the  story  when  he  came 
to  the  counter  to  pay  for  his  rib  steak  and  coffee.  He  had 
with  him  at  the  time  a  broad-brimmed  gray  sombrero, 
pinched  to  a  peak,  with  a  ragged  hole  close  to  the  apex  of 
the  peak. 

"I  wanted  to  show  you  this,  Miss  Corblay"  he  said,  as 
he  exhibited  this  battered  relic  of  the  fray.  "You  do  a 
pretty  good  trade  in  hats,  and  it's  just  possible  you  might 


218  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

have  handled  this  sombrero  in  the  line  o'  business.  Ever 
recollect  sellin'  a  hat  to  this  fellow — his  name's — lemme 
see — his  name's  Kobert  McGraw?  It's  written  inside  the 
sweat-band. ' ' 

He  drew  the  band  back  and  displayed  the  name  in  in 
delible  pencil. 

"I  lifted  it  off'n  his  head  with  my  second  shot"  the 
messenger  explained.  "He  was  goin'  like  a  streak  an'  it 
was  snap-shootin ',  or  he  'd  never  'a  got  away  from  me.  As 
it  was,  I  sent  him  on  his  way  bareheaded,  and  a  bareheaded 
man  is  easily  traced  in  the  desert.  We  sent  word  over  to 
Johannesburg  and  Randsburg,  an'  somebody  reported  seem' 
a  bareheaded  man  ridin'  around  the  town  after  dark.  We 
have  him  headed  off  at  Barstow,  and  if  he  can't  get  through 
there,  he'll  have  to  head  up  into  the  Virginia  Dale  district 
— and  he'll  last  about  a  day  up  there,  unless  he  knows  the 
waterholes.  We'll  get  him,  sooner  or  later,  dead  or  alive. 
Remember  sellin'  anybody  by  that  name  a  hat?  It  might 
help  if  you  had  an'  could  describe  him.  All  I  could  see 
was  his  eyes.  He  was  behind  a  wall  when  he  stuck  us  up." 

"No"  said  Donna  quietly,  "I—"  She  paused.  She 
could  not  articulate  another  word.  Had  the  express  mes 
senger  been  watching  her  instead  of  the  hat,  he  might  have 
noticed  her  agitation.  Her  eyes  were  closed  in  sudden, 
violent  pain,  and  she  leaned  forward  heavily  against  the 
counter. 

"Don't  remember  him,  eh?  Well,  perhaps  he  wasn't 
from  San  Pasqual.  But  I  thought  I'd  ask  you,  anyhow, 
because  if  he  was  from  this  town  it  was  a  good  chance  he 
bought  this  hat  from  you.  Much  obliged,  just  the  same," 
and  gathering  up  his  change  the  express  messenger  de 
parted  to  make  room  for  Harley  P.  Hennage,  who  was 
standing  next  in  line  to  pay  his  meal-check. 

Donna  opened  her  eyes  and  sighed — a  little  gasping  sob, 
and  turned  her  quivering  face  to  the  gambler.  He  smiled 
at  her,  striving  pathetically  to  do  it  naturally.  Instead, 
it  was  a  grimace,  and  there  was  the  look  of  a  thousand 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  219 

devils  in  Ms  baleful  eyes.  For  an  instant  their  glances 
met — and  there  were  no  secrets  between  them  now.  Donna 
moaned  in  her  wretchedness;  she  placed  her  arm  on  the 
cash  register  and  bowed  her  head  on  it,  while  the  other 
little  trembling  hand  stole  across  the  counter,  seeking  for 
his  and  the  comfort  which  the  strong  seem  able  to  impart 
to  the  weak  by  the  mere  sense  of  touch. 

"Oh,  Harley,  Harley"  she  whispered  brokenly,  "the 
light's — gone  out — of  the  world — and  I  can't — cry.  I — I 
— I  can't.  I  can — only — suffer." 

Harley  P.  's  great  freckled  hand  closed  over  ners  and  held 
it  fast,  while  with  his  other  hand  he  touched  her  beautiful 
head  with  paternal  tenderness. 

1  '  Donnie ' '  he  said  hoarsely.  She  did  not  look  up.  "  I  'm 
sorry  you're  not  feelin'  well,  Donnie.  You're  all  upset 
about  somethin',  an'  you  ought  to  go  home  an'  take  a  good 
rest.  You  don't — you  don't  look  well.  I  noticed  it  last 
night.  You  looked  a  mite  peaked." 

"Yes,  yes"  she  whispered,  clutching  at  this  straw  which 
he  held  out  to  her,  "I'm  ill.  I  want  to  go  home — oh,  Mr. 
Hennage,  please — take  me — home." 

Mr.  Hennage  turned  and  beckoned  to  one  of  the  wait 
resses  whose  duty  it  was,  on  Donna's  days  off,  to  take  her 
place  at  the  cash  counter.  As  the  waitress  started  to  obey 
his  summons,  the  gambler  turned  and  spoke  to  Donna. 

"Buck  up  and  beat  it.  I  can't  take  you  home,  an'  neither 
can  anybody  else.  You've  got  to  make  it  alone.  When 
you  get  to  the  Hat  Ranch,  send  Sam  Singer  up  to  me.  Re 
member,  Donnie.  Send  Sam  Singer  up." 

He  turned  again  to  the  waitress.  "You'd  better  take 
charge  here"  he  said.  "Miss  Corblay's  been  took  sick, 
an'  the  pain's  somethin'  terrible.  I've  been  a-tellin'  her 
she  ought  to  have  Doc  Taylor  in  to  look  at  her.  If  I  had 
the  pain  that  girl's  a-sufferin'  right  now  I'd  be  in  bed, 
that's  what  I  would.  I'll  bet  a  stack  o'  blues  she  got  this 
here  potomaine  poisonin'.  Better  run  right  along,  Miss 
,  before  the  pain  gets  worse,  an'  I'll  see  Doc  Taylor 


220  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

an'  tell  him  to  bring  you  down  some  medicine  or  some* 
thin'." 

Donna  replied  in  monosyllables  to  the  excited  queries  of 
the  waitress,  pinned  on  her  hat  and  left  the  eating-house 
as  quickly  as  she  could.  She  was  dry-eyed,  white-lipped, 
sunk  in  an  abyss  of  misery;  for  there  are  agonies  of  grief 
and  terror  so  profound  that  their  very  intensity  dams  the 
fount  of  tears,  and  it  was  thus  with  Donna.  Harley  P. 
accompanied  her  to  the  door  of  the  eating-house,  but  he 
would  go  no  further.  He  realized  that  Donna  wanted  to 
talk  with  him ;  in  a  vague  way  he  gathered  that  she  looked 
to  him  for  some  words  of  comfort  in  her  terrible  predica 
ment.  Not  for  worlds,  however,  would  he  be  seen  walking 
with  her  in  public,  thereby  laying  the  foundation  for 
"talk";  and  under  the  circumstances  he  realized  the  dan 
ger  to  her,  should  he  even  be  seen  conversing  with  her 
from  now  on.  She  pleaded  with  him  with  her  eyes,  but  he 
shook  his  head  resolutely.  He  had  heard  the  news.  In 
advertently  he  had  stumbled  upon  her  secret,  and  she  knew 
this.  But  she  knew  also  that  never  by  word  or  sign  or 
deed  would  Harley  P.  Hennage  indicate  that  he  had  heard 
it.  It  was  like  him  to  ascribe  her  agitation  to  illness,  and 
as  she  turned  her  heavy  footsteps  toward  the  Hat  Ranch 
the  memory  of  that  loving  lie  brought  the  laggard  tears  at 
last,  and  she  wept  aloud.  In  her  agony  she  was  conscious 
of  a  feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  Almighty  for  His  perfect 
workmanship  in  fashioning  a  man  who  was  not  one  of  the 
presuming  kind. 

It  seemed  to  Donna  that  she  must  have  wandered  long 
in  the  border-lands  of  hell  before  eventually  she  reached 
the  shelter  of  the  adobe  walls  of  the  Hat  Ranch.  Soft 
Wind  heard  her  sobbing  and  fumbling  with  the  recalcitrant 
lock  on  the  iron  gate,  and  hurried  toward  her. 

' '  My  little  one !  My  nestling ! ' '  she  said  in  the  Cahuilla 
tongue,  and  forthwith  Donna  collapsed  in  the  old  squaw's 
arms.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  fainted. 

"When  she  recovered  consciousness  she  found  that  she  was 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  221 

lying  fully  dressed,  on  her  bed,  at  the  foot  of  which  Soft 
Wind  and  Sam  Singer  were  standing,  gazing  at  her  owl- 
ishly.  She  commenced  to  sob  immediately,  and  Sam  Sin 
ger  pussy-footed  out  of  the  room  and  fled  up  town  to  lay 
the  matter  before  Harley  P.  Hennage.  For  the  second 
time  there  was  a  crisis  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  and  Sam  yielded 
to  his  first  impulse,  which  was  to  seek  help  where  something 
told  him  help  would  never  be  withheld. 

In  the  meantime,  Harley  P.  Hennage  had  fled  to  the 
seclusion  of  his  room  in  the  eating-house  hotel.  The  dis 
closure  of  the  identity  of  the  stage-robber  had  overwhelmed 
the  gambler  with  anguish,  and  he  wanted  to  be  alone  to 
think  the  terrible  affair  over  calmly.  In  the  language  of 
his  profession,  the  buck  was  clearly  up  to  Mr.  Hennage. 

Twice  during  his  eventful  career  the  gambler  had  sat 
in  poker  games  where  an  opponent  had  held  the  dead  man's 
hand  and  paid  the  penalty.  He  recalled  now  the  quick 
look  of  terror  that  had  flitted  across  the  face  of  each  of 
these  men  when  it  came  to  the  show-down  and  the  pot  was 
lost  in  the  smoke;  he  endeavored  to  compare  it  with  the 
sudden  despair  and  suffering  that  came  into  Donna's  eyes 
when  the  express  messenger  drew  back  the  sweat-band  of 
the  outlaw's  hat  and  showed  her  Bob  McGraw's  private 
brand  of  ownership. 

"No,"  moaned  Mr.  Hennage,  "there  ain't  no  compari 
son.  Them  two  tin-horns  was  frightened  o '  death,  but  poor 
little  Donnie  is  plumb  fearful  o'  life,  an'  there  ain't  a  soul 
in  the  world  can  help  her  but  me.  She's  got  hers,  just 
like  her  mother  did,  an'  there  ain't  never  goin'  to  be  no 
joy  in  them  eyes  no  more,  unless  I  act,  an'  act  lively." 

He  sat  down  on  his  bed  and  bowed  his  bald  head  in  his 
trembling  hands,  for  once  more  Harley  P.  Hennage  was 
face  to  face  with  a  great  issue.  He,  too,  was  experiencing 
some  of  the  agony  of  a  grief  that  could  find  no  outlet  in 
tears — a  three-year-old  grief  that  could  have  no  ending 
until  the  end  should  come  for  Harley  P. 

Presently  he  roused  and  looked  at  his  watch.     He  was 


222  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

horrified  to  discover  that  he  had  just  forty  minutes  left 
in  which  to  arrange  his  affairs  and  leave  San  Pasqual. 

He  went  to  the  window,  parted  the  curtains  cautiously 
and  looked  out.  At  the  door  of  the  post-office,  a  half  a 
block  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  the  express  mes 
senger,  with  the  hat  still  in  his  hand,  stood  conversing  with 
Miss  Molly  Pickett. 

"You — miserable — old — mischief-maker"  he  muttered 
slowly,  and  with  hate  and  emphasis  in  every  word. 
"You're  tellin'  him  to  see  me  for  information  concernin' 
Bob  McGraw,  ain't  you?  You're  tellin'  him  this  road 
agent's  a  friend  o'  mine,  because  I  called  for  a  registered 
letter  for  him  once,  ain't  you?  An'  now  you're  takin'  him 
inside  to  show  him  the  written  order  Bob  McGraw  give  me 
for  that  registered  letter,  ain't  you?  You're  quite  a  nice 
little  old  maid  detective,  ain't  you,  Miss  Molly?  You're 
tellin'  him  that  I  knew  the  man  that  saved  Donnie  Corblay, 
an'  that  he  was  a  friend  o'  mine,  too,  because  I  led  his 
roan  horse  up  into  the  feed  corral  an'  guaranteed  the  feed 
bill.  An '  everybody  knows,  or  if  they  don 't  they  soon  will, 
that  the  initials  'R.  McG.'  was  on  that  fool  boy's  saddle. 
All  right,  Miss  Pickett !  Let  'er  flicker.  Only  them  Wells 
Fargo  detectives  don't  get  to  ask  me  no  questions  regardin' 
that  girl's  husband.  Not  a  dog-gone  question!  If  I  stay 
in  this  town  they  11  subpeeny  me  an '  make  me  testify  under 
oath,  an'  then  I'll  perjure  myself  an'  get  caught  at  it,  an' 
I'm  too  old  a  gambler  to  get  caught  bluffin'  on  no  pair. 
No,  indeed,  folks,  I  can't  afford  it,  so  I'm  just  a-goin'  to 
fold  my  tent  like  the  Arab  an'  silently  fade  away." 

Thus  reasoned  Mr.  Hennage.  Both  by  nature  and  pro 
fessional  training  he  was  more  adept  in  the  science  of  de 
duction  than  most  men,  and  while  he  had  never  seen 
Donna's  marriage  license  he  firmly  believed  that  she  had 
been  married.  Pie  had  looked  for  the  publication  of  the 
license  in  the  Bakersfield  papers.  Not  having  seen  it,  Mr. 
Hennage  was  not  disturbed.  He  understood  that  Donna, 
planning  to  keep  on  at  the  eating-house,  desired  her  mar« 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  223 

riage  to  remain  a  secret  for  the  present,  and  Bob  had  doubt 
less  arranged  to  have  the  record  of  the  issuance  df  the 
license  "buried."  The  fact  that  Friar  Tuck  had  disap 
peared  from  the  feed  corral  on  the  very  night  of  Donna's 
return  to  San  Pasqual  was  to  Mr.  Hennage  prima  facie 
evidence  that  Bob  McGraw  had  returned  with  her.  Donna 
had  gone  to  the  Hat  Ranch  while  Bob  had  saddled  and  rid 
den  north.  At  least,  since  he  had  come  from  the  north, 
Mr.  Hennage  deduced  that  to  the  north  he  would  return. 
Garlock  lay  a  hard  thirty-five  miles  from  San  Pasqual,  and 
it  seemed  reasonable  to  presume  that  Bob  had  stopped 
there  for  water,  rested  until  the  stage  came  along  and 
then  robbed  it. 

However,  there  was  one  weak  link  in  this  apparently 
powerful  chain  of  evidence.  The  stage  driver  and  the 
express  messenger  both  reported  the  bandit  to  be  mounted 
on  a  bay  mustang.  At  close  quarters  the  horse  had  been 
concealed  behind  the  wall  with  the  upper  half  of  his  face 
showing.  "Well,  Bob  McGraw 's  horse  was  a  light  roan — 
a  very  light  roan,  with  almost  bay  ears  and  head,  and  at 
a  distance,  and  in  certain  lights  and  in  the  excitement  of 
the  hold-up,  he  might  very  easily  have  been  mistaken  for 
a  bay.  Many  a  bay  horse,  when  covered  with  alkali  dust 
and  dried  sweat,  has  been  mistaken  for  a  roan. 

In  addition  there  was  the  evidence  of  the  automatic  pis 
tol  !  Few  men  in  that  country  carried  automatics,  for  an 
automatic  was  a  weapon  too  new  in  those  days  to  be 
popular,  and  the  residents  of  the  Mojave  still  clung  to 
.tradition  and  a  Colt's  .45.  The  bandit  had  shown  himself 
'peculiarly  expert  in  the  use  of  his  weapon,  having  shot  the 
pipe  out  of  the  messenger's  mouth,  merely  to  impress  that 
unimpressionable  functionary.  It  would  have  been  like 
Bob  McGraw,  who  carried  an  automatic  and  was  a  dead 
shot,  to  show  off  a  little ! 

However,  an  alibi  might  very  easily  discount  all  this 
circumstantial  evidence,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  there 
could  be  no  alibi  for  Bob  McGraw,  for  beyond  doubt  he 


224  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

must  have  been  in  the  neighborhood  of  Garlock  that  very 
day.  Then  there  was  the  hat,  with  his  name  in  it;  also 
the  report  that  one  of  the  passengers  who  knew  him  had 
recognized  the  bandit  as  Bob  McGraw. 

' '  Alibi  or  no  alibi,  he  '11  get  twenty  years  in  San  Quentin 
on  that  evidence"  mourned  Harley  P.  "Oh,  Bob,  you 
infernal  young  rip,  if  you  was  as  hard  up  as  all  that,  why 
didn  't  you  come  to  me  ?  Why  didn  't  you  trust  old  Harley 
P.  Hennage  with  your  worries!  I'd  'a  seen  you  through. 
But  you  wouldn't  trust  me — just  went  to  work  an'  mar 
ried  that  good  girl,  an'  then  pulled  off  a  job  o'  road  work 
to  support  her.  Oh,  Bob,  you  dog,  you've  broke  her  heart 
an '  she  '11  go  like  her  mother  went. ' ' 

He  clenched  his  big  fists  and  punched  the  air  viciously, 
in  unconscious  exemplification  of  the  chastisement  he  would 
mete  to  Bob  McGraw  when  he  met  him  again. 

"It  ain't  often  I  make  a  mistake  judgin'  a  man"  he 
muttered  piteously,  "but  I've  sure  been  taken  in  on  this 
feller.  I  thought  he'd  stand  the  acid — by  God!  I  thought 
he'd  stand  it.  An'  at  that  there's  heaps  o'  good  in  the 
boy!  He  must  'a  been  just  desperate  for  money,  an'  the 
notion  to  rob  the  stage  come  on  him  all  in  a  heap  an* 
downed  him  before  he  knew.  Great  Grief!  That  mist'or- 
tunate  girl!  He'll  never  come  back,  an'  if  they  trace  him 
to  her  she'll  die  o'  shame.  Whiskered  bob-cats,  I  never 
thought  o'  that.  She'll  have  to  get  out  too!" 

The  gambler  had  a  sudden  thought.  Donna  could  do 
two  things.  She  could  leave  San  Pasqual,  or  she  could 
stand  pat!  If  she  said  nothing,  not  a  soul  could  befoul 
her  by  linking  her  name  to  that  of  a  stage-robber.  She 
must  stand  pat !  There  was  but  one  channel  through  which 
the  news  that  Bob  McGraw  had  been  harbored  at  the  Hat 
Ranch  could  possibly  filter.  People  might  think  what  they 
pleased,  but  they  could  never  prove,  provided  Doc  Taylor 
remained  discreet.  Therefore  it  behooved  Mr.  Hennage 
to  see  Doc  Taylor  immediately.  That  possible  leak  must 
be  plugged  at  once. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  225 

Three  minutes  later  the  gambler  strolled  into  the  drug* 
store. 

"How"  he  saluted. 

"Hello,  Hennage." 

"What's  new?" 

' '  Nothing  much.  What  do  you  think  about  that  hold-up 
at  Garlock?" 

"Pretty  bold  piece  o'  work,  Doc.  Do  they  know  who 
did  it?" 

"Fellow  named  McGraw.  And  as  near  as  I  can  make 
out,  Hennage,  it's  the  same  fellow  I  attended  that  time 
down  at  the  Hat  Ranch." 

"It  is"  Mr.  Hennage  agreed  quietly.  "At  least,  I  be 
lieve  it  is.  That's  what  I  called  to  see  you  about,  Doc. 
Have  you  said  anything  to  anybody?" 

"No — not  yet.  I  wasn't  quite  certain,  and  I  figured  on 
talking  it  over  with  you  before  I  gave  Wells  Fargo  &  Conv 
pany  the  quiet  tip  to  watch  the  Hat  Ranch  for  their  man. ' ' 

"Good  enough!  But  they'll  be  around  asking  you  ques 
tions,  Doc.  Don't  worry  about  that.  They  won't  wait  for 
you  to  come  to  them.  An'  when  they  come  to  you,  Doc, 
you  don't  know  nothin'.  Comprende?" 

"But  McGraw  robbed  the  stage — " 

"He  didn't  kill  nobody,  Doc.  He  wasn't  blood-thirsty. 
He  shot  the  horse  when  he  might  have  shot  the  messenger. 
Now,  let's  be  sensible,  Doc.  Sometimes  a  feller  can  accom 
plish  more  in  this  world  by  keepin'  his  mouth  shut  than  he 
can  by  tellin'  every  durned  thing  he  knows.  Now,  as  near 
as  I  can  learn,  this  outlaw  gets  away  with  about  four 
thousand  dollars.  If  the  passengers  an'  the  express  com 
pany  get  their  money  back,  they'll  be  glad  to  let  it  go  at 
that,  an'  I'll  buy  'em  a  new  padlock  for  the  express  box. 
This  is  the  young  feller's  first  job,  Doc — I'm  certain  o' 
that.  He  ain't  bad — an'  besides,  I've  got  a  special  interest 
in  him.  Now,  listen  here,  Doc ;  I  've  got  a  pretty  good  idea 
where  he's  gone  to  hole  up  until  the  noise  dies  down,  an' 
I'm  goin'  after  him  myself.  I'll  make  him  give  up  the 


226  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

swag  an '  send  it  back ;  then  I  '11  get  him  out  o '  the  country 
an'  let  him  start  life  all  over  again  somewhere  else.  He's 
a  young  feller,  Doc,  an'  it  ain't  right  to  kick  him  when  he's 
down.  He  oughter  be  lifted  up  an'  given  a  chance  to 
make  good." 

Doc  Taylor  shook  his  head  dubiously.  He  realized  that 
Harley  P.'s  plan  was  best,  and  in  his  innermost  soul  he 
commended  it  as  a  proper  Christian  course.  But  he  also 
remembered  to  have  heard  somewhere  that  godless  men. 
like  Harley  P.  Hennage  and  the  outlaw  McGraw  had  a 
habit  of  being  friendly  and  faithful  to  each  other  in  just 
such  emergencies — a  sort  of  "honor  among  thieves"  ar 
rangement,  and  despite  Mr.  Hennage 's  kindly  words,  Doc 
Taylor  doubted  their  sincerity.  In  fact,  the  whole  thing 
was  irregular,  for  even  after  the  return  of  the  stolen  money 
the  bandit  would  still  owe  a  debt  to  society — and  moreover, 
the  worthy  doctor  was  the  joint  possessor,  with  Harley  P. 
Hennage,  of  an  astounding  secret,  the  disclosure  of  which 
would  make  him  the  hero  of  San  Pasqual  for  a  day  at  least. 

"I  can't  agree  to  that,  Hennage"  he  began  soberly. 
"It  doesn't  look  right  to  me  to  let  a  stage-robber  go  scot- 
free—" 

"Well,  I  tell  you,  Doc,"  drawled  Mr.  Hennage  serenely, 
"it'd  better  look  right  to  you,  an'  damned  quick  at  that. 
You  seem  to  think  I'm  here  a-askin'  a  favor  o'  you.  Not 
much.  I  never  ask  favors  o'  no  man.  I'm  just  as  inde 
pendent  as  a  hog  on  ice;  if  I  don't  stand  up  I  can  set 
down.  I  run  a  square  game  myself  an'  I  want  a  square 
game  from  the  other  fellow.  Now,  Doc,  you  just  so  much 
as  say  'Boo'  about  this  thing,  an'  by  the  Nine  Gods  o' 
War  I'll  kill  you.  D'ye  understand,  Doc?  I'll  kill  you 
like  I  would  a  tarantula.  An'  when  they  come  to  ask  you 
the  name  o'  the  man  you  'tended  at  the  Hat  Ranch  you 
tell  'em  his  name  is — lemme  see,  now — yes,  his  name  is 
Roland  McGuire.  That's  a  nice  name,  an'  it  corresponds 
to  the  initials  on  the  saddle." 

Doc  Taylor  looked  into  the  gambler's  hard  face,  which 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  227 

was  thrust  close  to  his.  The  mouth  of  the  worst  man  in 
San  Pasqual  was  drawn  back  in  a  half  snarl  that  was  al 
most  coyote-like;  his  small  deep-set  eyes  bespoke  only  too 
truly  the  firmness  of  purpose  that  lay  behind  their  blazing 
menace.  For  fully  thirty  seconds  those  terrible  eyes 
flamed,  unblinking,  on  Doc  Taylor;  then  Mr.  Hennage 
spoke. 

"Now,  what  is  his  name  goin'  to  be,  Doc?" 
"Roland  McGuire"  said  Doc  Taylor,  and  swallowed  his 
Adam's  apple  twice. 

"Bright  boy.     Go  to  the  head  o'  the  class  an'  don't 
forget  to  remember  to  stick  there." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MR.  HENNAGE  turned  slowly  and  walked  out  of  the 
drug-store,  for  he  had  accomplished  his  mission. 
Once  again,  without  recourse  to  violence,  he  had 
maintained  his  reputation  as  the  worst  man  in  San  Pas- 
qual,  for  his  power  lay,  not  in  a  clever  bluff,  but  in  his 
all-too-evident  downright  honesty  of  purpose.  Had  Doc 
Taylor  presumed  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence,  after 
that  warning,  Mr.  Hennage  felt  that  the  responsibility 
must  very  properly  rest  on  the  doctor,  for  the  gambler 
would  have  killed  him  as  surely  as  he  had  the  strength  to 
work  his  trigger  finger. 

"Well,  that's  over"  he  muttered  as  he  returned  to  his 
room.  "She's  woman  enough  to  cover  the  rest  o'  the  trail 
herself  now,  poor  girl,  an'  in  about  a  week  I'll  pull  the 
big  sting  that's  hurtin'  her  most." 

Hastily  he  packed  a  suit-case  with  his  few  simple  belong 
ings,  for  in  his  haste  he  was  forced  to  abandon  his  old  raw 
hide  trunk  that  had  accompanied  him  in  his  wanderings 
for  twenty  years.  But  one  article  did  Mr.  Hennage  re 
move  from  his  trunk.  It  was  an  old  magazine.  He  opened 
it  tenderly,  satisfied  himself  that  the  faded  old  rose  that 
lay  between  the  leaves  was  still  intact,  and  packed  this 
treasure  into  the  suit-case;  then,  while  waiting  for  the 
north-bound  train  to  whistle  for  San  Pasqual,  he  sat  down 
at  a  little  table  and  wrote  a  note  to  Donna: 

Dear  Miss  Dannie: 

I  am  sending  you  a  thousand  by  Sam  Singer.  Yon  might 
need  it.  Am  in  trouble  and  must  get  out  quick.  Will  stay 

228 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  229 

away  until  things  blow  over.     Hoping  these  few  lines  will  find 
you  feeling  well,  as  they  leave  me  at  present,  I  am, 

Respect,  yrs. 

H.  P.  HENNAGE. 

P.  S.  I  came  to  say  good-by  a  little  while  ago  and  was  sorry 
you  wasn't  feeling  well. 

This  note  Mr.  Hennage  sealed  carefully  in  an  envelope, 
together  with  a  compact  little  roll  of  bills,  just  as  the  train 
whistled  for  San  Pasqual.  He  seized  his  suit-case  and 
hurried  down  stairs,  and  on  the  way  down  he  met  Sam 
Singer  coming  up. 

"Give  this  to  Miss  Donna"  said  Mr.  Hennage,  and  thrust 
the  envelope  into  the  Indian's  hand.  "Ain't  got  no  time 
to  talk  to  you,  Sam.  This  is  my  busy  day,"  and  then,  for 
the  last  time,  he  gave  Sam  Singer  the  inevitable  half  dol 
lar  and  a  cigar. 

"Good-by,  Sam"  he  called  as  he  descended  the  stairs. 
"Be  a  good  Injun  till  I  see  you  again." 

He  went  to  the  ticket  window,  purchased  a  ticket  to  San 
Francisco  and  climbed  aboard  the  train.  Two  minutes 
later  it  pulled  out.  As  it  plunged  into  Tehachapi  Pass, 
Mr.  Hennage,  standing  on  the  platform  of  the  rear  car, 
glanced  back  across  the  desert  at  San  Pasqual. 

"Nothin'  like  mystery  to  keep  that  rotten  little  camp  up 
on  its  toes"  he  muttered.  "I'll  just  leave  that  mess  to 
stew  in  its  own  juices  for  a  while." 

He  went  into  the  smoker  and  lit  a  cigar.  His  plans  were 
well  matured  now  and  he  was  content ;  in  this  comfortable 
frame  of  mind  he  glanced  idly  around  at  his  fellow-pas 
sengers. 

Seated  two  seats  in  front  of  him  and  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  coach,  Mr.  Hennage  observed  a  gray-haired  man 
reading  a  newspaper.  The  gambler  decided  that  there  was 
something  vaguely  familiar  about  the  back  of  this  pas 
senger's  head,  and  on  the  pretense  of  going  to  the  front 
of  the  car  for  a  drink  of  water  he  contrived,  on  his  way 
back  to  his  seat,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  stranger's  facet 


230  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

At  the  same  instant  the  man  glanced  up  from  his  papef 
and  nodded  to  Mr.  Hennage. 

"How"  said  Harley  P.,  and  paused  beside  the  other's 
seat.  "Mr.  T.  Morgan  Carey,  if  I  ain't  mistaken?" 

"The  same"  replied  Carey  in  his  dry,  precise  tones. 
"And  you  are — Mr. — Mr. — Mr.  Hammage." 

"Hennage"  corrected  the  gambler. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Mr.  Hennage.  Quite  so.  Pray  be 
seated,  Mr.  Hennage.  You're  the  very  man  I  wanted  to 
see." 

He  moved  over  and  made  room  for  Mr.  Hennage  beside 
him.  The  gambler  sat  down  and  sighed. 

"Hot,  ain't  it?"  he  remarked,  rather  inanely. 

"Bather.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Hennage,  have  you,  by  any 
chance,  seen  that  young  man  for  whom  I  was  inquiring 
on  the  day  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  ac 
quaintance?  His  name  is  McGraw — Robert  McGraw. 
You  will  recollect  that  I  left  with  you  one  of  my  cards, 
with  the  request  that  you  give  it  to  McGraw,  should  you 
meet  him,  and  inform  him  that  I  desired  to  communicate 
with  him." 

"Yes"  replied  Mr.  Hennage  calmly.  "I  met  him  one 
day  in  San  Pasqual  an'  gave  him  your  card." 

"You  gave  him  my  registered  letter,  also?" 

So  Carey  had  been  talking  with  Miss  Pickett  again! 
Mr.  Hennage  nodded. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Hennage"  purred  Carey.  "Why  did  the 
man,  McGraw,  send  you  to  the  post-office  with  an  order  for 
that  registered  letter?" 

j     "Oh,  he  was  in  a  little  trouble  at  the  time  an'  didn't 
care  to  show  in  public"  lied  Mr.  Hennage  glibly. 

"I  perceive.  I  believe  you  mentioned  something  about 
his  reputation  as  a  hard  citizen  when  I  first  spoke  to  you 
about  him." 

" Tougher 'n  a  bob-cat"  Mr.  Hennage  assured  him,  for  no 
earthly  reason  except  a  desire  to  be  perverse  and  not  con 
tradict  his  former  statements. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  231 

1 '  Hu-u-m-m !  I  presume  you  know  where  Mr.  MeGraw 
may  be  found  at  present.  Is  he  liable  to  communicate  with 
you?" 

Mr.  Hennage  was  on  guard.  "Well,  I  ain't  sayin'  noth- 
in'  "  he  replied  evasively.  It  was  in  his  mind  to  discover, 
if  possible,  the  details  of  the  business  which  this  man  of 
vast  emprise  could  have  with  a  penniless  desert  rat  like 
Bob  McGraw. 

"Is  this  McGraw  a  friend  of  yours,  Mr.  Hennage?"  pur 
sued  Carey. 

"Well,"  the  gambler  fenced,  "I've  loaned  him  money.'* 

"Ever  get  it  back?"  Carey  smiled  a  thin  sword-fish 
smile. 

"Certainly.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

"You  consider  McGraw  honest?" 

"Sure  shot — between  friends.    Yes." 

Carey  turned  his  head  slowly  and  gazed  at  the  gambler 
in  mean  triumph.  "Well,  I'm  sorry  I  can't  agree  with 
you"  he  said.  "Your  friend  McGraw  robbed  me  of  fif 
teen  hundred  dollars  on  the  San  Pasqual-Keeler  stage  a 
few  days  ago." 

The  fact  that  Carey  had  been  a  victim  of  Bob  McGraw  'e 
felonious  activities  was  news  to  Mr.  Hennage,  but  he  would 
not  permit  Carey  to  suspect  it. 

"Yes"  he  replied  calmly,  "I  heard  he'd  taken  to  road 
work." 

"He  held  up  the  stage"  Carey  repeated,  in  the  flat  tone 
of  finality  which  the  foreman  of  a  jury  might  have  em 
ployed  when  repeating  the  verbal  formula :  ' '  We,  the  jury, 
find  the  defendant  guilty,  as  charged." 

"Then  you  recognized  McGraw"  ventured  the  gambler. 

"The  moment  I  saw  him." 

"That's  funny"  echoed  Harley  P.  "I  gathered  from 
what  you  told  me  in  San  Pasqual  that  you  two'd  never 
met  up,  an'  they  tell  me  that  durin'  the  hold-up  McGraw 
was  behind  a  wall  an'  wearin'  a  mask.  You're  sure  some 
recognizer,  Mr.  Carey." 


232  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

''We  had  met  prior  to  the  hold-up  and  subsequent  to 
my  conversation  with  you  in  San  Pasqual." 

"Still  the  bet  goes  as  she  lays"  repeated  Mr.  Hennage. 
"For  a  near-sighted  gent  you're  sure  some  recognizer." 

"I  recognized  his  voice." 

Mr.  Hennage  was  silent  for  a  minute.     Carey  continued. 

"If  the  sheriff  gets  him,  I'll  see  to  it  that  McGraw 
doesn't  rob  another  stage  for  some  time  to  come." 

Still  Mr.  Hennage  was  silent.  He  was  digesting  the  con 
versation,  and  this  much  he  gathered : 

There  was  some  mysterious  business  afoot  wherein  Carey 
and  Bob  McGraw  were  jointly  interested,  and  they  had 
met  and  quarreled  over  it,  as  evidenced  by  T.  Morgan 
Carey's  all  too  apparent  animosity.  Mr.  Hennage  had  a 
haunting  suspicion  that  Carey's  animus  did  not  arise  from 
the  fact  that  McGraw  had  robbed  him  of  fifteen  hundred 
dollars.  He  felt  that  there  was  a  deeper,  more  vital  rea 
son  than  that.  All  of  his  days  Mr.  Hennage  had  lived 
close  to  the  primitive;  he  was  a  shrewd  judge  of  human 
impulses  and  it  had  been  his  experience  that  men  quarrel 
over  two  things — women  and  money.  The  possible  hy 
pothesis  of  a  woman,  in  the  suspected  quarrel  between  Bob 
McGraw  and  T.  Morgan  Carey,  Harley  P.  dismissed  as 
untenable.  Remained  then,  only  money — and  Bob  Mc 
Graw  had  no  money.  His  finances  were  at  so  low  an  ebb 
as  to  be  beneath  the  notice  of  such  a  palpable  commercial 
wolf  as  T.  Morgan  Carey;  consequently,  and  in  the  final 
analysis,  Mr.  Hennage  concluded  that  Bob  McGraw  pos 
sessed  something  which  Carey  coveted.  Whether  his  spite 
ful  attitude  toward  the  unfortunate  Bob  arose  from  this, 
or  the  loss  of  the  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  Mr.  Hennage  now 
purposed  discovering.  He  leaned  toward  Carey  confiden 
tially  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"Say,  looky-here,  Mr.  Carey.  This  boy,  McGraw,  is  a 
friend  o'  mine.  A  little  wild?  Yes.  But  what  young 
feller  now-a-days  ain't?  I  know  he's  robbed  you  o'  fifteen 
hundred  dollars,  an'  I'm  sorry  for  that,  but  I  can  fix  you 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  233 

up  all  right.  I'm  goin'  to  get  into  communication  with 
our  young  friend  before  long,  if  he  ain't  beefed  by  the 
sheriff  first,  or  captured  alive — but  it's  ten  to  one  they  get 
him,  an'  hell  be  brought  to  trial.  Well,  now,  here's  what 
I'm  drivin'  at.  If  the  boy's  nabbed,  an'  you'll  agree  to 
sorter,  as  the  feller  says,  tangle  the  woof  o'  memory  an' 
refuse  to  swear  that  you  recognize  the  said  defendant  as 
the  hereinbefore  mentioned  stage-robber,  I'll  see  that  you 
get  your  fifteen  hundred  back.  This  is  his  first  serious 
job,  Mr.  Carey,  an'  I  wish  you'd  go  easy  on  him.  He  ain't 
really  bad." 

T.  Morgan  Carey  pounded  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front 
of  him. 

' '  Not  for  fifty  thousand  dollars ' '  he  said.  ' '  The  sugges 
tion  is  preposterous.  The  man  is  a  menace  to  society  and 
it  is  my  duty  to  testify  against  him  if  he  is  apprehended." 

"Then  it  ain't  a  question  with  you  o'  money  back  an' 
no  questions  asked?" 

Carey  shook  his  head  emphatically.  "It's  principle"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Hennage  appeared  chopfallen.  In  reality  he  was 
amused.  Never  before  had  Mr.  Hennage  met  a  man  to 
whom  the  abandonment  of  such  "principle"  would  have 
been  impossible  under  the  terms  suggested.  Clearly  there 
was  something  wrong  here.  Mr.  Hennage  had  met  men  to 
whom  vengeance  would  have  been  cheap  at  fifty  thousand, 
but  principle — the  gambler  shook  his  head.  He  had  lived 
long  enough  to  learn  that  principle  is  a  marketable  com 
modity,  and  he  was  not  deceived  in  T.  Morgan  Carey's 
attitude  of  civic  righteousness. 

"Well,  it's  too  bad  you  won't  listen  to  reason,  Mr. 
Carey"  he  said  regretfully.  "I  thought  you  might  be 
•vdllin'  to  go  easy  on  the  young  feller.  It's  too  durned 
bad,"  and  he  rose  abruptly  and  returned  to  his  own  seat. 
Carey  resumed  the  perusal  of  his  newspaper.  He  was  not 
anxious  to  continue  the  conversation,  and  he  believed  he 
had  Mr.  Hennage  intimidated,  and  for  reasons  of  his  own 


THE  LONG  CHANCE 

he  was  desirous  of  permitting  the  gambler  to  think  mai 
ters  over. 

Mr.  Hennage  proceeded  at  once  to  think  matters  over« 
"Now,  I  wonder  what  that  kid-glove  crook  has  against  the 
boy?"  he  mused.  "I  can  see  right  off  that  Bob  has  an 
ace  coppered,  an'  this  sweet-scented  burglar  would  like  to 
see  Bob  tucked  away  in  the  calaboose  while  he  goes  huntin* 
for  the  ace.  What  in  Sam  Hill  can  them  two  fellers  have 
between  them?  Here's  Bob,  just  a  plain  young  desert  rat, 
a-dreamin'  an'  a-romancin'  over  the  country,  while  this 
Carey  is  a  solid  citizen.  He's  president  o'  the  Inyo  Land 
&  Irrigation  Company,  accordin'  to  his  card.  Bob  ain't 
got  no  money — Carey  has  a  carload  of  it.  Bob  ain't  got 
no  water — Carey's  in  the  irrigation  business.  Bob  ain't 
got  no  real  estate,  'ceptin'  what  he  accumulates  on  his  per 
son  wanderin'  around,  and  Carey's  got  land — " 

Mr.  Hennage  emitted  a  low  soft  whistle  through  the  slit 
between  two  of  his  gold  teeth. 

Land!  That  was  it.  Land!  And  government  land  at 
that! 

Mr.  Hennage  suddenly  recollected  the  letter  which  Bob 
McGraw  had  written  him  from  Sacramento,  requesting  a 
loan  of  fifty  dollars,  and  enclosing,  without  comment,  a 
typewritten  contract  form  for  the  acquisition  of  state  lieu 
lands.  Mr.  Hennage  had  read  this  contract  at  the  time 
of  its  receipt,  little  thinking  that  Bob  was  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  enclosed  it  with  his  letter. 
Mr.  Hennage  had  marveled  at  the  time  that  Bob  should 
ihave  made  no  reference  to  it  in  his  letter. 

He  took  Bob's  letter  from  his  breast  pocket  now,  and 
carefully  perused  once  more  this  typewritten  contract  form. 
To  him  it  conveyed  little  information,  save  that  Bob  had 
been  endeavoring  to  induce  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry  to  ac- 
qfcire  state  lieu  lands  by  engaging  him  as  their  attorney, 
and  without  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  putting  up  any 
money.  A  very  queer  proceeding,  concluded  Mr.  Hennage, 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  Bob  apprehended  litigation  in  order 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  235 

to  establish  the  rights  of  his  clients.  At  the  first  reading 
of  this  document  two  weeks  previous,  the  gambler  had1 
merely  looked  upon  it  as  evidence  of  another  of  Bob  Mc- 
Graw's  harebrained  schemes  for  acquiring  a  quick  for 
tune — a  scheme  founded  on  optimism  and  predestined  to 
failure;  but  in  the  light  of  recent  events  the  meager  in- 
formation  gleaned  from  the  contract  form  had  now  a 
deeper,  a  more  significant  meaning. 

Here  was  a  conundrum.  Carey  (according  to  his  card, 
at  any  rate)  had  the  water,  while  Bob  McGraw  (according 
to  this  contract  form)  was  endeavoring  to  acquire  the  land. 
Both  were  operating  in  Owens  valley.  Mr.  Hennage 
smiled.  No  wonder  they  had  quarreled,  for  without  the 
land,  of  what  use  was  the  water  to  Carey  ?  and  without  the 
water,  of  what  value  could  the  land  be  to  Bob  McGraw  ? 

"I  wouldn't  give  a  white  chip  for  a  hull  county  o'  such- 
land"  mused  the  gambler,  "unless  I  could  set  in  the  game 
with  the  chap  that  had  the  water,  an'  Carey  bein'  a  hu 
man  hog,  it  stands  to  reason  Bob's  a  chump  to  tie  up  with 
iiim,  unless — unless — he's  got  water  of  his  own!" 

Mr.  Hennage  slapped  his  fat  thigh.  "By  Jupiter,"  he 
murmured,  "he's  got  the  water!  He  must  have  it.  He 
might  be  fool  enough  to  hold  up  a  stage,  but  he  ain't  fool 
enough  to  face  a  lawsuit,  without  a  dollar  in  the  world, 
tryin'  to  make  people  take  up  land  so  he  can  sell  'em  water 
for  irrigation,  unless  he  has  the  water.  The  boy  ain't 
plumb  crazy  by  no  means.  That's  the  ace  he's  got  cop 
pered!  He's  got  the  water,  and  if  Carey  can  put  him 
across  for  that  hold-up  job,  who's  to  protect  the  boy's  bet?j 
Not  a  soul,  unless  it's  me,  an'  I'm  only  shootin'  at  the' 
moon.  Bob  ain't  the  man  to  put  up  a  fight  for  worthless 
land,  an'  besides,  wasn't  Bonnie  askin'  me  a  lot  o'  ques 
tions  about  water  an'  water  rights,  an'  showin'  a  whole 
lot  of  interest,  now  that  I  come  to  think  on't?  By  the 
Nine  Gods  o '  War !  I  smell  a  rat  as  big  as  a  kangaroo.  Bob 's 
been  buttin'  in  on  Carey's  game;  Carey's  been  tryin'  to 
buy  him  out,  but  Bob  has  Carey  on  the  floor  with  his  shoul- 


236  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

ders  touchin',  so  he  won't  sell  an'  lie  won't  consolidates 
If  she  don't  'tack  up  that-a-way,  I'm  an  Injun.  Carey 
wouldn't  compromise  with  me  an'  take  back  his  fifteen 
hundred.  Why?  There's  a  reason.  He'd  sooner  see 
young  Bob  in  the  penitentiary  because  it'd  mean  more 
money  to  him.  He  wants  Bob  out  o'  the  way,  so  he  won't 
be  on  hand  to  draw  cards,  an'  then  this  Carey  person  '11 
just  reach  out  his  soft  little  mitt  and  rake  in  the  jack-pot. 
All  right,  T.  Morgan  Carey!  Bob's  out  of  it,  but  even 
if  he  is  a  crook  I'll  string  a  bet  with  him,  for  Bonnie's 
sake,  an'  I'll  deal  you  a  brace  game  an'  you'll  never  know 
tjiat  the  deck's  been  sanded." 

And  having  thus,  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  solved  the 
mystery  of  the  hitherto  unaccountable  actions  of  T.  Mor 
gan  Carey  and  Bob  McGraw,  Mr.  Hennage  dismissed  the 
matter  from  his  mind,  lit  a  fresh  cigar  and  permitted  the 
peanut  butcher  to  inveigle  him  into  a  friendly  little  game 
of  whist  with  three  traveling  salesmen. 

Harley  P.  Hennage  had  purchased  a  ticket  for  San  Fran 
cisco,  but  when  the  train  reached  Bakersfield  and  he  ob 
served  T.  Morgan  Carey  leaving  the  car,  bag  in  hand,  the 
gambler  suddenly  decided  that  he,  also,  would  honor  Bakers- 
field  with  his  presence.  He  excused  himself,  hastily  quitted 
his  innocent  game  of  whist,  seized  his  suit-case  and  rode 
up  town  in  the  same  hotel  bus  with  Carey. 

Carey  registered  first,  sent  his  bag  and  overcoat  up  to  his 
room,  and  then  walked  over  to  the  telegraph  desk.  Harley 
P.  Hennage,  standing  in  line  to  register,  noticed  that  Carey 
had  filed  a  telegram ;  consequently,  when  he  had  registered 
and  T.  Morgan  Carey  had  disappeared  into  the  barber  shop, 
Mr.  Hennage,  following  up  a  strong  winning  "hunch," 
walked  over  to  the  telegraph  desk  and  laid  a  ten-dollar 
piece  on  the  railing. 

"I'm  goin'  to  open  a  book,  young  lady"  he  announced. 
"I'm  willin'  to  bet  ten  dollars  that  the  respectable  old 
party  that  just  give  you  a  telegram  signed  Carey  is  wkin' 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  237 

about  a  friend  o'  mine.  If  I  don't  guess  right,  you  get 
the  ten  bucks.  Fair?" 

The  young  lady  operator  dimpled  and  admitted  that  it 
was  eminently  fair.  She  had  no  illusions  (although  her 
position  required  her  to  have  them)  regarding  the  sacred- 
ness  of  privacy  in  a  telegram,  and  Mr.  Hennage  had  not 
as  yet  asked  her  to  violate  a  confidence. 

"I'm  a-bettin'  ten  bucks"  repeated  Mr.  Hennage,  "that 
the  name  McGraw's  occurs  in  that  telegram." 

"You  win"  the  operator  replied.  "How  did  you  guess 
it?" 

"I  was  born  with  a  veil"  he  replied.  "I  got  the  gift  o' 
second  sight,  an'  I'm  just  a-tryin'  it  out.  The  ten  is 
yours  for  a  copy  o'  that  telegram." 

The  operator  seized  a  scratch-pad,  copied  the  telegram 
and  cautiously  "slipped"  it  to  Mr.  Hennage,  who  as  cau 
tiously  "slipped"  her  the  ten-dollar  bill.  He  was  rewarded 
for  his  prodigality  by  the  following: 

K.  P.  MC-KEON, 
Mills   Building, 

Sacramento,  Calif. 

Advise  our  friend  approve  McGraw  applications  at  once. 
Letter  follows. 

CAKEY. 

The  gambler  smiled  his  thanks  and  walked  across  the 
hotel  lobby  to  the  public-telephone  operator.  On  this  young 
lady's  desk  he  laid  a  five-dollar  bill. 

"I  want  you  to  call  up  Sacramento  on  the  long  distance 
an'  ask  the  central  there  to  find  out  who  Mr.  R.  P. 
McKeon  is  an'  what  he  does  for  a  livin'." 

"~VVe  have  copies  of  the  telephone  directories  of  the  prin 
cipal  cities  in  the  state"  came  the  quick  reply.  "It  makes 
it  easier  if  we  ask  for  the  number  direct." 

"Five  bucks  for  a  look  in  the  book"  announced  Mr. 
Hennage.  He  got  the  book,  with  the  information  that  he 
might  have  his  look  for  nothing,  but  being  a  generous  soul 


238  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

he  declined.  He  ascertained  that  R.  P.  McKeon  was  an 
attorney-at-law. 

"As  the  feller  says,  I  believe  I  see  the  light"  murmured 
the  gambler.  "Now  please  get  me  the  agent  for  "Wells 
Fargo  &  Company  at  San  Pasqual." 

When  the  operator  informed  him  that  San  Pasqual  was 
on  the  line,  Mr.  Hennage  went  into  a  sound-proof  booth 
and  told  a  lie.  He  informed  the  agent  at  San  Pasqual  that 
he  was  the  Bakersfield  representative  of  the  Associated 
Press,  and  demanded  the  latest  information  regarding  the 
hunt  for  the  Garlock  bandit.  He  was  informed  that  there 
was  no  news. 

"I  gotta  get  some  news"  he  bellowed  into  the  receiver. 
"[What's  the  exact  loss  o'  your  company?" 

"Twenty-one  hundred  eighty -three  forty." 

"Serves  you  right.  How  about  the  passengers?  Got 
their  names  an'  addresses  an'  the  amounts  they  lost?" 

"No,  but  the  express  messenger  has  and  he's  in  town. 
Hold  the  line  a  minute  and  I'll  go  call  him." 

So  Mr.  Hennage  waited.  Five  minutes  later,  when  he 
hung  up,  he  had  secured  the  information  and  made  careful 
note  of  it,  after  which  he  sought  an  arm-chair  in  the  hotel 
window,  planted  his  feet  on  the  window  sill  and  gave  him 
self  up  to  reflection.  He  was  occupied  thus  when  T.  Mor 
gan  Carey  came  out  of  the  barber  shop,  and  seeing  Mr. 
Hennage,  came  over  and  sat  down  beside  him.  Mr.  Hen 
nage  decided  that  the  financier  must  have  something  on  his 
mind,  and  he  was  not  wrong. 

"Mr.  Hennage"  said  Carey  unctuously,  "I  have  been 
thinking  over  the  proposition  which  you  made  me  coming 
up  from  San  Pasqual  this  afternoon,  and  if  you  still  feel 
inclined  to  act  as  intermediary  in  this  unfortunate  affair, 
I  will  submit  a  proposition.  Mr.  McGraw  may  retain  the 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  which  he  stole  from  me,  and  I  will 
agree  to  give  him,  say,  five  thousand  more,  through  you, 
for  a  relinquishment  to  me  of  a  water  right  which  he  has 
filed  upon  in  the  Sierra  overlooking  Owens  valley.  There 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  239 

is  also  another  matter  of  which  McGraw  has  cognizance, 
and  he  must  agree  to  drop  that  too.  His  money  will  be  de 
livered  to  you,  for  delivery  to  him.  In  return,  I  will 
agree  to  be  absent  wrhen  his  case  comes  to  trial,  should  he  be 
captured.  I  will  agree  not  to  recognize  him." 

"But  suppose  he  refuses  this  programme,  Mr.  Carey. 
^Then  what?" 

"In  that  event,  my  dear  Mr.  Hennage"  replied  Carey 
coldly,  "you  may  tell  him  from  me  that  I  will  spend  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  to  run  him  down.  I  will  have 
this  state  combed  by  Pinkertons,  and  when  I  land  Mr. 
Robert  McGraw  I'll  land  him  high  and  dry  and  it  will  be 
too  late  for  him  to  make  me  a  proposition  then.  I  have 
the  power  and  the  money  necessary  to  get  him — and  I 
know  how." 

"Well,  what  a  long  tail  our  cat's  developin'!"  drawled 
Mr.  Hennage.  "Carey,  you  give  me  a  pain  where  I  never 
knew  it  to  ache  me  before.  Now,  you  just  sit  still  while 
I  submit  you  a  little  proposition.  An'  remember  I  ain't 
pleadin'  with  you  to  accept  it.  No,  indeed.  I'm  just 
a-orderin'  you  to.  Bob  McGraw  can't  prove  that  he  didn't 
rob  that  stage,  but  a  child  could  make  a  monkey  out  o'  you 
on  the  witness  stand.  Talked  to  him  once  an'  recognized 
his  voice,  eh?  Pooh!  Met  him  once  an'  recognized  him 
masked.  Rats!  I  happen  to  know,  Carey,  that  you  didn't 
recognize  the  stage  robber  until  after  the  messenger  re 
turned  to  the  stage  ivith  his  hat  an'  showed  you  his  name 
on  the  sweat-band.  Then  you  remembered,  because  the 
wish  was  father  to  the  thought,  an'  you  wanted  the  boy  in 
jail.  Now,  looky  here.  I  happen  to  be  mighty  heavily  in 
terested  in  this  here  water  right  you're  plannin'  to  black 
mail  McGraw  out  of.  But  you  ain't  got  nothin'  on  me,  an* 
you  can't  buy  me  out  for  a  million  dollars,  an'  you  ain't 
got  money  enough — there  ain't  money  enough  in  the  world 
• — to  make  me  double-cross  Bob  McGraw  just  because  he's 
a  outlaw  from  justice." 

He  tapped  Carey  on  the  knee  with  his  fat  forefinger. 


24o  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"I'm  playin'  look-out  on  this  game,  an*  it's  hands  off  fo? 
you.  You  can't  make  a  bet.  You  don't  get  that  water 
right  an'  you  won't  get  the  land;  if  Bob  McGraw  ain't  on 
hand  to  sue  for  his  rights,  by  the  Nine  Gods  o'  War,  I'll 
sue  for  him,  an'  I'll  put  up  the  money,  an'  I'll  match  you 
an'  your  gang  for  your  shoe-strings,  and  you're  whipped  to 
a  frazzle,  an'  get  that  into  your  head — understand? 
You're  figurin'  now  on  gettin'  them  applications  approved, 
eh?  "Well,  you  just  cut  it  out.  If  them  applications  are 
approved  before  I  'm  ready  to  have  'em  approved,  you  know 
what  I '11  do  to  you,  Carey.  I '11  cut  your  heart  out.  Don't 
you  figure  for  a  minute  that  there  ain't  somebody  pro- 
tectin'  that  boy's  bet.  You  scatter  his  chips  an'  see  what 
happens  to  you.  Understand  ?  You  try  upsettin'  the  Hen- 
nage  apple-cart  one  o'  these  bright  days,  an'  there'll  be  a 
rush  order  for  a  new  tombstone.  The  motto  o'  the  Hen- 
nage  family  has  allers  been  'Hands  Off  Or  Take  The  Conse 
quences.'  Of  course,  if  you  insist,  you  can  go  to  it  with 
your  private  detectives,  but  you  won't  get  far.  You're 
up  against  a  double-jointed  play,  Carey.  Look  out  for 
snags." 

T.  Morgan  Carey  stared  hard  at  Harley  P.  Hennage 
while  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual  was  delivering  his 
ultimatum.  He  continued  to  stare  when  Mr.  Hennage  had 
finished,  smiling,  for  to  Carey  that  golden  smile  was  more 
deadly  than  a  scowl.  Carey  knew  too  well  the  kind  of  eyes 
that  were  gazing  into  his ;  they  were  the  eyes  of  an  honest 
man,  and  by  the  cut  of  Mr.  Hennage 's  jaw  Carey  knew 
that  here  was  a  man  who  would  "stay  put." 

Mr.  Hennage  laughed  boldly,  as  he  realized  on  what  a 
slender  foundation  his  gigantic  bluff  was  resting,  and  what 
an  impression  his  words  had  made  upon  Carey.  The  lat 
ter  pulled  himself  together  and  favored  the  gambler  with 
a  wintry  grin. 

"Kinder  game  little  pup,  after  all"  thought  Mr.  Hen 
nage.  "He  thinks  he's  licked,  but  he's  goin'  to  bluff  it 
out  to  the  finish.  I  believe  if  this  feller  was  on  the  level 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  241 

I'd  like  him.  He's  no  slouch  at  whatever  he  tackles,  you 
bet." 

''Very  well,  Mr.  Hennage"  said  Carey  quietly,  "I  think 
I  understand  you.  See  that  you  understand  me,  in  order 
that  we  may  both  understand  each  other.  You  've  declared 
war,  on  behalf  of  your  felon  of  a  partner.  Very  well,  I 
accept.  It's  war." 

In  turn,  T.  Morgan  Carey  tapped  Mr.  Hennage  on  the 
knee  with  his  forefinger. 

''I'll  keep  my  hands  off  your  business  in  the  state  land 
office.  Your  applications  can  pass  through  for  approval, 
for  all  I  care,  but  I'll  enter  a  contest,  alleging  fraud, 
against  you  in  the  General  Land  Office  at  Washington, 
and  I'll  hold  you  up  for  ten  years  in  a  mass  of  red  tape. 
Hennage,  you  and  McGraw  have  brains,  I'll  admit,  but 
you  can't  play  my  game  and  beat  me  at  it.  If  I'm  not  in 
on  this  melon-cutting,  I'll  spend  a  million  dollars  to  delay 
the  banquet.  Let  me  tell  you  something.  The  day  will 
come  when  you'll  come  scraping  your  feet  at  my  office 
door,  begging  for  a  compromise.  I'm  a  business  man,  and 
I  tell  you  before  you  're  half  through  with  this  fight,  you  '11 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  none 
at  all — particularly  in  the  matter  of  extra  large  loaves. 
You'll  come  to  me  and  compromise." 

"Gosh,  I'm  dry  with  argument"  taunted  Mr.  Hennage. 
"Now  that  we  understand  each  other,  let's  be  friends. 
"We  can  be  friends  out  o'  business  hours,  can't  we,  Carey? 
Come  an'  have  a  drink." 

"With  all  my  heart"  Carey  retorted,  with  genuine  pleas 
ure.  "I  must  confess  to  a  liking  for  you,  Mr.  Hennage. 
I  could  kill  you  and  then  weep  at  your  funeral,  for  upon 
my  word  you  are  the  most  amusing  and  philosophical 
opponent  I  have  ever  met.  I  really  have  hopes  that  ulti 
mately  you  will  listen  to  reason." 

"There  is  no  hope"  said  Mr.  Hennage,  as  he  took  T. 
Morgan  Carey  by  the  arm — almost,  as  Mrs.  Dan  Pennycook 
Would  have  expressed  it,  ' '  friendly  like, ' '  and  escorted  him 


242  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

to  the  hotel  bar.  Here  Mr.  Hennage  produced  a  thousand- 
dollar  bill  from  his  vest  pocket  (he  had  carried  that  bill  fof 
ten  years  and  always  used  it  as  a  flash  during  his  peregri 
nations  outside  San  Pasqual)  and  calmly  laid  it  on  th* 
bar. 

"Wine"  he  said.  Mr.  Hennage 's  order,  when  doing  the 
handsome  thing,  was  always  "wine."  The  barkeeper  set 
out  a  pint  of  champagne  and  filled  both  glasses.  The  gam 
bler  raised  his  to  the  light,  eyed  it  critically  and  then 
flashed  his  three  gold  teeth  at  T.  Morgan  Carey. 

"Here's  damnation  to  you,  Mr.  Carey"  he  said.  "May 
you  live  unhappily  and  die  in  jail." 

"The  sentiment,  my  dear  Hennage,  is  entirely  recipro 
cal"  Carey  flashed  back  at  him.  They  drank,  gazing  at 
each  other  over  the  rims  of  their  glasses. 

Despite  the  knock-out  which  Harley  P.  had  given  him, 
T.  Morgan  Carey  was  enjoying  the  gambler's  society.  Mr. 
Hennage  was  a  new  note  in  life.  Carey  had  never  met  his 
kind  before,  and  he  was  irresistibly  attracted  toward  the 
man  from  San  Pasqual. 

"Upon  my  word,  Hennage"  he  said,  as  he  set  down  his 
glass,  "if  your  liquor  could  only  be  metamorphosed  into 
prussic  acid,  I'd  gladly  shoulder  your  funeral  expenses* 
You're  a  thorn  in  my  side." 

"We  understand  each  other,  Carey.  Any  time  you're 
meditatin'  suicide  drop  around  to  San  Pasqual  an'  I'll 
buy  you  a  pistol." 

Carey  laughed  long  and  loud.  "Hennage"  he  said, 
"do  you  know  I  think  I  should  grow  to  like  you?  By 
George,  I  think  I  should.  If  you  should  ever  come  to 
Los  Angeles,  look  me  up,"  and  he  presented  the  gambler 
with  his  card. 

Mr.  Hennage  smiled,  tore  the  card  into  little  bits  and 
dropped  them  to  the  floor. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  tin-horn?"  he  queried. 

A  momentary  frown  crossed  Carey's  face;  then  he, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  243 

smiled.  He  was  finding  it  hard  to  take  offense  at  the 
gambler's  bluntness. 

"I  think  you're  a  dead-game  sport,  Hennage"  he  said, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  meant  it.  "But  I  shall 
not  despair.  You  have  brains.  Some  day,  I  feel  assured, 
we  shall  sit  down  together  like  sensible  men  and  do  busi 
ness."  ' 

"And  in  the  meantime"  replied  Mr.  Hennage,  raising 
an  admonitory  forefinger,  "our  motto  is  'Keep  off  the 
grass.'  " 

"Oh,  I  won't  walk  on  your  darned  old  grass"  Carey 
retorted.  "I'll  just  step  Between  it." 

They  shook  hands  in  friendly  fashion,  and  Carey  Lurried 
away.  Mr.  Hennage  stared  after  him. 

"Sassy  as  a  badger"  he  murmured.  "I  can't  bluff  that 
hombre.  He'll  go  as  far  as  he  can,  an'  be  ready  to  jump 
in  the  first  chance  he  sees.  Bob,  my  boy,  you're  up 
against  it." 

Mr.  Hennage 's  business  in  Bakersfield  was  now  com 
pleted.  He  felt  certain  that  a  battle  between  Bob  McGraw 
and  T.  Morgan  Carey  was  inevitable,  should  Bob  decide 
to  remain  in  the  background  and  send  an  ally  out  to  fight 
for  him.  However,  despite  his  horror  of  Bob's  crime,  the 
gambler  unconsciously  extended  him  his  sympathy,  and  if 
there  was  to  be  a  battle,  either  its  commencement  had  been 
delayed  or  its  duration  prolonged  by  the  little  bluff  which 
he  had  just  worked  on  T.  Morgan  Carey,  and  that  was  all 
Mr.  Hennage  was  striving  for. 

"I  must  find  Bob"  mused  the  gambler,  "an*  I  must 
have  time  to  find  him  before  these  people  euchre  him  out 
o'  that  valuable  water  right  o'  his.  An'  when  I  find  that 
young  man,  I'll  bet  six-bits  he  sells  that  water  right  to 
me;  then  I'll  sell  it  to  my  friend  Carey  an'  the  proceeds 
o'  that  sale  '11  go  to  Donnie.  A  woman  can  get  along 
without  a  man,  if  she's  got  the  price  to  get  along  on." 

The  gambler's  line  of  reasoning  was  a  wise  one.    In 


244  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

the  chain  of  powerful  circumstantial  evidence  that  linked 
Donna  Corblay  to  Bob  McGraw,  Mr.  Hennage  was  the* 
most  powerful  link,  and  if  he  was  to  remove  himself  beyond 
the  jurisdiction  of  a  subpoena  from  the  Superior  Court  of 
Kern  county,  and  thus  evade  answering  embarrassing  ques 
tions  when  Bob  should  be  brought  to  trial  (as  the  gambler 
felt  certain  he  would  be),  it  behooved  Mr.  Hennage  to 
travel  far  and  fast. 

He  went  down  to  the  station  and  purchased  a  ticket  for 
Goldfield,  Nevada.  Goldfield  was  in  the  zenith  of  her 
glory  about  that  time  and  Harley  P.  felt  certain  of  a 
plethora  of  easy  money  in  any  booming  mining  camp. 
Indeed,  it  behooved  him  to  seek  pastures  where  the  grass 
was  long  and  green,  for  in  the  removal  from  Donna  's  heart 
of  what  he  termed  "the  big  sting,"  Harley  P.  planned  to 
play  havoc  with  his  bank-roll. 

He  proceeded  about  this  delicate  task  as  befits  one  who 
has  a  horror  of  appearing  presumptuous.  A  week  after 
his  arrival  in  Goldfield  he  rented  a  typewriter  for  a  day, 
took  it  to  his  room  in  the  Goldfield  hotel  and  battled  man 
fully  with  it  for  several  hours.  After  much  toil  he  evolved 
the  following  form  letter: 

Dear  Friend: 

A  short  time  ago  I  robbed  the  San  Pasqual  stage  at  Garlock. 
I  took  -  dollars  of  your  money,  which  I  return  to  you 
now;  with  many  thanks,  for  the  reason  that  I  don't  need  it 
no  more  and  am  sorry  I  took  it. 

I  notice  by  the  papers  that  they  found  my  hat  with  my  name 
in  it,  which  serves  me  right.  I  did  not  have  no  business  doing 
that  job  in  the  first  place.  It  was  my  first  and  it  will  be  my 
last.  I  am  going  to  start  fresh  again  and  hope  you  won't  bear 
me  no  grudge  for  what  I  done. 

Trusting  that  the  same  has  not  caused  you  any  inconvenience 
and  with  best  wishes  I  am. 

Respectfully, 

ROBERT 


In  the  blank  space  left  for  the  purpose  Mr.  Hennage  in* 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  245 

serted  in  lead-pencil  the  figures  representing  the  exact 
amount  of  coin  which  he  had  been  informed  by  the  express 
agent  had  been  taken  from  each  passenger.  Next  he  in 
serted  the  exact  amount  in  paper  money,  together  with  his 
letters,  in  envelopes  which  he  also  addressed  on  the  type 
writer,  stamped  them  and  wralked  down  to  the  post-office. 

"Now,  that  fixes  everything  up  lovely"  he  soliloquized, 
as  he  watched  the  envelopes  disappear  down  the  main 
chute.  "Wells  Fargo  &  Co.  get  theirs  back,  so  they'll  pull 
off  their  detective  force  an'  withdraw  the  reward;  every 
passenger  gets  his  back,  an'  if  he's  called  to  testify  it's  a 
cinch  he'll  ask  the  judge  to  be  merciful  on  the  defendant, 
because  he  made  restitution  an'  showed  sorrer  for  wrhat 
he  went  an'  done.  Everybody  gets  fixed  up  except  T. 
Morgan  Carey,  an'  I  work  too  dog-gone  hard  for  my  money 
to  throw  it  away  on  him.  When  folks  find  Bob  has  sent 
back  the  money  he  stole  he  won't  be  anything  like  the  evil 
cuss  he  is  now  an'  the  whole  thing  '11  simmer  down  to  a 
big  joke.  When  that  poor  broken-hearted  little  wife  o' 
his  hears  about  it  she'll  think  it  ain't  so  bad  after  all. 
She'll  figure  that  they  can  go  somewhere  else  an'  live  it 
down  an'  that'll  ease  the  ache  a  heap.  Suppose  she  does 
meet  some  o '  them  San  Pasqual  cattle  in  the  years  to  come  ? 
What's  the  odds?  Nobody  in  San  Pasqual  knows  him  or 
ever  seen  him,  'ceptin'  Doc  Taylor — an'  what's  in  a  name? 
Nothin'.  There's  hundreds  o'  McGraws  in  California 
right  now,  an'  more  arrivin'  on  every  train." 

Thus  reasoned  the  artful  Harley  P.  When  his  task  was 
completed  he  stood  outside  the  door  of  the  post-office  whim 
sically  surveying  the  ruin  of  his  fortune.  Less  than  two 
thousand  dollars  was  all  he  had  to  show  for  a  life-time  of 
endeavor,  and  one  thousand  of  that  was  contained  in  a 
single  bill  and  was  Mr.  Hennage's  pocket-piece.  He  must 
never  change  that  bill.  It  was  his  little  nest-egg  against 
a  rainy  day,  and  hereafter  he  would  have  to  carry  it  where 
it  could  not  readily  be  reached  when  under  the  spell  o.f 
sudden  temptation. 


246  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

He  returned  to  his  room,  wrapped  the  bill  into  a  com« 
pact  little  wad  and  tucked  it  far  into  the  toe  of  one  of  his 
congress  gaiters. 

"It's  a  blessin*  "  he  muttered  plaintively,  as  he  replaced 
his  shoe,  "that  the  lives  us  gamblers  leads  generally  tends 
to  choke  off  our  wind  around  the  fifty-mark  at  the  latest. 
I'm  forty -five  an'  here  in  the  mere  shank  o'  old  age,  after 
runnin'  my  own  game  for  twenty  years,  I  got  to  go  to  work 
for  somebody  else." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

'T  is  one  of  the  compensating  laws  of  existence  that 
the  crisis  of  human  despair  and  grief  is  reached  OH 
the  instant  that  the  reason  for  it  becomes  apparent; 
thereafter  it  occupies  itself  for  a  season  in  the  gradual 
process  of  wearing  itself  out.  Time  is  the  great  healer  of 
human  woe,  and  if  in  the  darkness  of  despair  one  tiny 
ray  of  hope  can  filter  through,  an  automatic  rebound  to 
the  normal  conditions  of  life  quickly  follows.  The  death 
of  a  loved  one  would  not  be  endurable,  were  it  not  that 
Hope  dares  to  reach  beyond  the  grave. 

For  three  days  following  her  discovery  of  Bob  McGraw's 
name  written  beneath  the  sweat-band  of  the  outlaw's  hat, 
Donna  Corblay  lay  on  her  bed  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  battling 
with  herself  in  an  effort  to  refrain  from  thinking  the 
terrible  thoughts  that  persisted  in  obtruding  themselves 
upon  her  tortured  brain.  For  three  days,  and  the  greater 
portion  of  two  nights,  she  had  cried  aloud  to  the  four  dumb 
walls  of  the  Hat  Ranch: 

"He  didn't  doit.  He  couldn't  do  it.  My  Bob  couldn't 
do  such  a  thing.  It's  some  terrible  mistake.  Oh,  my  hus 
band!  My  dear,  thoughtless,  impulsive  husband!  Oh, 
Bob !  Bob !  Come  back  and  face  them  and  tell  them  you 
didn't  do  it.  Only  tell  me,  and  I'll  believe  you  and  stick 
by  you  through  everything." 

And  then  the  horrible  thought  that  he  was  guilty;  that 
even  now  he  was  being  hunted,  hatless,  hungry,  weary  and 
thirsty — a  pariah  with  every  honest  man's  hand  raised 
against  him — reminded  her  that  the  limit  of  her  wretched 
ness  lay,  not  in  the  fact  that  her  faith  in  him  had  been 
shattered,  but  in  the  more  appalling  consciousness  that  he 
would  not  come  back  to  her!  Wild  herald  of  woe  and 

247 


248  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

death  he  had  flitted  into  her  life — as  carelessly  as  he  came 
he  had  departed,  and  she  knew  he  would  not  come  back. 

Yes,  Bob  was  too  shrewd  a  man  not  to  realize  that  in 
abandoning  his  hat  he  had  left  behind  him  the  evidence 
that  must  send  him  to  the  penitentiary  should  he  ever  re 
turn  to  his  old  haunts  in  Inyo  and  Mono  counties.  He 
loved  his  liberty  too  well  to  sacrifice  it,  and  he  knew  her 
code.  It  did  not  seem  possible  to  Donna  that  he  would 
have  the  audacity  to  face  her  again ;  so,  man-like,  he  would 
not  try. 

And  then  she  would  think  of  him  as  she  had  seen  him 
that  first  night,  leaning  on  Friar  Tuck's  neck  and  gazing 
at  her  in  the  dim  ghostly  light  of  a  green  switch-lantern — 
telling  her  with  his  eyes  that  he  loved  her.  She  recalled 
his  little  mocking  inscrutable  smile,  the  manhood  that  had 
won  her  to  him  when  first  they  met,  and  against  all  this 
she  remembered  that  she  had  presented  him  with  the  hat 
which  the  express  messenger  had  showed  her — she  had 
seen  him  write  his  name  in  indelible  pencil  under  the 
leathern  sweat-band! 

She  knew  he  had  ridden  north  from  San  Pasqual  the 
night  before  the  hold-up — and  thirty-five  miles  was  as 
much  as  one  small  tough  horse  could  do  in  the  desert  be 
tween  the  hour  at  which  Bob  had  left  her  and  his  pre 
sumable  arrival  at  Garlock,  where  he  lay  in  wait  for  the 
stage.  The  automatic  gun,  the  hat,  the  khaki  clothing, 
the  blue  bandanna  handkerchief  which  the  bandit  had  used 
for  a  mask,  the  fact  that  he  was  mounted — all  had  pointed 
to  her  husband  as  the  bandit.  But  the  description  of  the 
horse  was  at  variance  with  the  facts,  and  moreover — Donna 
thought  of  this  on  the  third  day — where  had  Bob  gotten 
that  rifle  with  which  he  killed  the  express  messenger's 
horse? 

He  had  no  rifle  when  he  entered  San  Pasqual  that  first 
night,  and  he  had  had  none  when  he  left.  The  hardware 
store  always  closed  at  eight  o'clock,  and  it  had  been  ten 
o'clock  when  Bob  left  the  Hat  Ranch — so  he  could  not  have 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  249 

purchased  a  rifle  in  San  Pasqual.  He  could  not  have  got 
ten  it  in  the  desert  between  Sas  Pasqual  and  Garlock,  for 
in  the  desert  men  do  not  sell  their  guns,  and  if  Bob  had 
taken  the  gun  by  force  from  some  lone  prospector,  news  of 
his  act  would  have  drifted  into  San  Pasqual  next  day. 

It  was  then  that  Donna  ceased  sobbing  and  commenced 
to  think,  for  even  if  her  head  inclined  her  to  weigh  the 
evidence  and  render  a  verdict,  her  heart  was  too  loyal  to 
accept  it.  The  memory  of  Bob  McGraw  was  always  with 
her — his  humorous  brown  eyes,  the  swing  to  his  big  body 
as  he  walked  beside  her,  his  gentleness,  his  unfailing 
courtesy,  his  almost  bombastic  belief  in  himself — no,  it  was 
not  possible  that  he  could  be  a  hypocrite.  That  perverse 
streak  in  him,  the  heritage  of  his  Irish  forebears,  would 
not  have  permitted  him  to  run  from  the  messenger.  The 
man  with  courage  enough  to  turn  outlaw  and  rob  a  stage 
had  courage  enough  to  kill  his  man,  and  Bob  McGraw 
"would  have  fought  it  out  in  the  open,  He  would  never 
have  taken  to  the  shelter  of  a  sand-dune  and  fired  from 
ambush.  Bob  McGrraw,  having  brains,  would  have  killed 
the  messenger  and  gone  back  for  his  hat!  He  was  too 
cunning  a  frontiersman  to  leave  a  trail  like  that  behind 
him  and  it  was  no  part  of  his  nature  to  do  a  half-way  job. 
Still,  the  man  who  had  robbed  that  stage  had  had  no 
hobbles  on  his  courage.  "Why,  if  he — he  must  have  had  a 
reason  for  not  caring  to  recover  that  hat — 

When  the  desert-bred  think,  they  think  quickly;  their 
conclusions  are  logical.  They  always  search  for  the  reason. 
The  man  whose  desperate  courage  had  been  equal  to  that 
robbery — who  had  accomplished  his  task  with  the  calm 
ease  and  urbanity  which  proclaimed  him  a  finished  product 
of  his  profession,  should  have  argued  the  question  with 
the  messenger  at  greater  length !  He  should  have  disputed 
ivitli  him  possession  of  the  liat,  for  in  the  desert  a  bat  is 
more  than  a  hat.  It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  and 
when  the  outlaw  had  abandoned  his  hat  it  must  have  been 
because  he  knew  where  he  could  secure  another  before  day 


250  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

should  dawn  and  find  him  bareheaded  in  the  open.  Had 
Bob  been  the  robber  he  would  have  remembered  that  hig 
name  was  in  the  hat,  and  rescued  it,  even  at  the  price  of 
the  express  messenger's  life,  for  self-preservation  is  ever 
the  first  law  of  nature.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  bandit 
had  known  that  the  name  was  in  the  hat — 

The  mistress  of  the  Hat  Ranch  rose  from  her  bed,  while 
a  wild  hope  beat  in  her  breast  and  beamed  in  her  tear- 
dimmed  eyes.  She  went  into  the  room  where  she  kept  her 
stock  of  hats  and  began  a  careful  examination  of  each  hat. 
Nearly  all  bore  some  insignia  of  ownership.  Derby  hats 
invariably  carried  the  owner's  initials  in  fancy  gilt  letters 
pasted  inside  the  crown,  while  others  had  the  initials 
neatly  punched  in  the  sweat-band  by  a  perforating  ma 
chine.  Half  a  dozen  hats,  apparently  unbranded,  had 
initials  or  names  in  full  written  in  indelible  pencil  inside 
their  sweat-bands. 

Donna,  considered  an  authority  on  male  headgear,  was 
for  the  first  time  learning  something  of  the  habits  of  men, 
— the  too  frequent  necessity  for  quickly  identifying  one's 
hat  from  a  row  of  similar  hats  from  the  hat-hooks  in 
crowded  restaurants.  Outwardly  the  hats  of  all  mankind 
resemble  each  other,  and  for  the  first  time  Donna  realized 
that  it  was  the  habit  of  men  to  mark  them.  She  pondered. 

"Now,  here  is  a  hat  bearing  the  name  of  James  Purdy. 
Suppose  I  should  sell  this  hat  to  Dan  Penny  cook  (uncon 
sciously  she  mentioned  Mr.  Pennycook,  who  dared  not  buy 
a  hat  from  her)  and  he  should  hold  up  the  stage  and  have 
the  hat  shot  off  his  head.  The  express  messenger  who 
picked  it  up  would  go  looking  for  a  man  named  James 
Purdy.  Perhaps — ' ' 

Donna  sat  down  and  commenced  to  laugh  hysterically. 
She  had  just  remembered  that  Bob  McGraw  had  lost  a 
hat  the  night  he  came  to  San  Pasqual ! 

Donna  ceased  laughing  presently  and  commenced  to  cry 
again — with  bitterness  and  shame  at  the  thought  of  her 
disloyalty  to  her  husband.  Why,  she  hadn't  sold  a  hat  like 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  251 

Bob's  for  a  year.  He  had  lost  his  hat  the  night  he  saved 
her  from  the  attack  of  the  hoboes,  and  somebody  had  picked 
it  up.  She  remembered  Bob's  complaint  at  the  loss  of  his 
hat,  because  it  was  new  and  had  cost  him  twenty  dollars! 
Some  one  in  San  Pasqual  had  found  it,  realized  its  value 
and  decided  to  keep  it.  It  followed,  then,  that  the  man 
who  had  found  that  hat  the  night  Bob  lost  it  had  held  up 
the  stage  at  Garlock.  And  knowing  of  the  name  under  the 
sweat-band  (for  evidently  it  was  Bob's  habit  to  brand  all 
of  his  hats  thus)  and  realizing  that  the  finding  of  the  hat 
would  divert  suspicion  from  him,  the  outlaw  had  aban 
doned  the  hat  without  a  fight! 

As  Harley  P.  Hennage  would  have  put  it,  the  entire 
situation  was  now  as  clear  as  mud! 

"And  to  think  that  I  even  suspected  him  for  a  mo 
ment  ! ' '  Donna  wailed.  ' '  Oh,  Bob,  what  will  you  think  ol 
me?  I'm  a  bad,  worthless,  disloyal  wife.  Oh,  Bob,  I'm 
so  sorry  and  ashamed!" 

She  was,  indeed.  But  sorrow  and  shame  under  such 
circumstances  may  exist,  at  the  outset,  for  about  ten  min. 
ates.  The  resurgent  wave  of  joy  which  her  discovery  in 
duced  quickly  routed  the  last  vestige  of  her  distress,  and 
womanlike  her  first  impulse,  as  a  wife,  was  to  wreak  sum 
mary  vengeance  on  the  man  who  had  asserted  that  her  hus 
band  had  robbed  the  stage !  The  idea !  She  would  ascer 
tain  the  name  of  this  passenger  who  declared  that  he  had 
recognized  the  bandit  as  Bob  McGraw,  and  force  him  to 
make  a  public  apology — 

No,  she  would  not  do  that.  To  do  so  would  be  to  pre 
sume  that  her  Bob  was  not,  like  Caesar's  wife,  above  sus 
picion,  and  besides,  it  would  spoil  Harley  P.'s  little  joke 
on  San  Pasqual.  And  there  was  really  no  danger  of  Bob 's 
arrest.  The  sheriff's  posse  was  trailing  the  other  man  out 
across  the  San  Bernardino  desert,  while  Bob,  serenely  un 
conscious  of  the  furor  created  by  the  finding  of  his  lost 
hat,  was  trudging  through  the  range,  miles  to  the  north, 
headed  east  from  Coso  Springs  with  his  two  burros,  circling 


252  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

across  country  to  the  Colorado  desert  and  prospecting 
as  he  went.  Her  defense  of  him  when  he  needed  none 
would  merely  serve  to  invite  the  query:  "Why  are  you 
so  interested  in  him?"  and  until  the  day  of  Bob's  re 
turn,  she  did  not  wish  to  answer  "Because  he  is  my  hus 
band." 

No,  it  would  be  far  better  to  sit  calmly  by  and  enjoy 
the  industry  of  the  man-hunters ;  then,  when  Bob  returned, 
he  would  defend  himself  in  his  own  vigorous  fashion, 
much  to  the  chagrin  of  his  accusers  and  the  consequent 
delight  of  Harley  P.  Hennage. 

Thinking  of  Mr.  Hennage  reminded  her  that  he  had  sent 
a  note  by  Sam  Singer.  In  her  distress  she  had  forgotten 
about  it  until  now;  so,  after  bathing  her  eyes,  she  opened 
the  envelope  and  acquainted  herself  with  its  remarkable 
contents. 

Poor  old  Harley  P. !  She  read  the  distress  between  the 
lines  of  that  kindly  lie  that  he  was  in  trouble  and  had  to 
get  out  of  San  Pasqual — and  as  she  fingered  the  little  roll 
of  bills  she  discovered  no  paradox  in  Harley  P.  's  hard  face 
and  still  harder  reputation  and  the  oft-repeated  biblical 
quotation  that  God  makes  man  to  His  own  image  and  like 
ness. 

A  thousand  dollars!  How  well  she  knew  why  he  had 
sent  it !  He  feared  that  she,  like  him,  would  have  to  leave 
San  Pasqual  to  avoid  answering  questions,  and  fearing  that 
she  was  but  indifferently  equipped  to  face  the  world,  he 
had  refrained  from  asking  questions.  Instead  he  had 
equipped  her,  and  in  his  unassuming  way  had  departed 
without  waiting  for  her  thanks  or  leaving  an  address — 
infallible  evidence  that  he  desired  neither  her  gratitude 
tier  the  return  of  the  money. 

' '  Poor  fellow ! ' '  she  murmured.  ' '  How  terrible  he  '11  feel 
when  he  discovers  it's  all  a  mistake.  He'll  be  ashamed  to 
speak  to  me.  Still,  why  should  he  feel  chagrined  at  all? 
He  hasn't  said  a  word." 

Foxy  Mr.  Hennage !     It  was  quite  true.     He  hadn  't  said 


THE  LONG  CHANCE 

a  word !  Ah,  money  talks ;  despite  his  precautions,  Harley 
P.'s  thousand  dollars  were  very  eloquent. 

The  next  day  Donna  took  up  her  life  where  it  had  left 
off.  She  had  scarcely  cached  Harley  P.  's  thousand  dollars 
in  her  private  compartment  in  the  eating-house  safe  when 
the  irrepressible  Miss  Molly  Pickett  dropped  in  to  express 
her  sympathy  at  Donna's  three-day  illness,  casually  men 
tioned  the  stage  robbery,  the  name  in  the  hat  and  the  sud 
den  exit  from  San  Pasqual  of  Harley  P.  Hennage.  Inci 
dentally  she  mentioned  the  fact  that  Mr.  Hennage  had  once 
presented  her  with  an  order  for  a  registered  letter  for  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Robert  McGraw,  and  taking  into  con 
sideration  this  fact  and  the  further  fact  that  birds  of  a 
feather  always  flock  together,  Miss  Pickett  opined  that  the 
hold-up  man  was  doubtless  a  bosom  friend  of  Mr.  Hennage. 

A  hearty  dinner  the  evening  before,  and  twelve  hours 
t£  uninterrupted  slumber,  had  driven  from  Donna's  face 
every  trace  of  her  three  days  of  purgatory.  She  was  alert, 
smiling  and  happy;  and  able  to  cross  swords  with  Miss 
Pickett  with  something  more  than  a  gossamer  hope  of  foil 
ing  her.  She  discussed  the  affair  so  calmly  and  with  such 
apparent  interest  that  Miss  Pickett  was  completely  mysti 
fied,  and  in  a  last  desperate  effort  to  satiate  her  curiosity 
she  cast  aside  all  pretense  and  came  boldly  into  the  open. 

' '  Folks  do  say,  Donna,  that  the  man  who  was  shot  saving 
you  from  those  tramps  and  was  nursed  at  the  Hat  Ranch 
is  the  same  man  that  held  up  the  stage." 

"Indeed!  Miss  Pickett,  folks  don't  know  what  they  are 
talking  about.  Have  you  asked  Doctor  Taylor  ? ' ' 

Miss  Pickett  commenced  to  spar.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
she  had  asked  Doe  Taylor,  and  been  informed  that  his  late 
patient  responded  to  the  name  of  Roland  McGuire.  But 
there  was  a  hang-dog  look  in  the  doctor's  eyes  which  had 
not  escaped  Miss  Pickett,  and  intuitively  she  knew  that  the 
worthy  medico  had  lied.  Donna's  question  convinced  her 
that  she  was  not  mistaken.  Her  bright  little  eyes  gleamed 
archly. 


254  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

""Why,  we  never  did  learn  who  it  was  that  saved  you. 
Donna.  Is  it  a  secret?" 

"Why,  no." 

Miss  Pickett  waited  in  agony  for  ten  seconds,  but  Donna, 
having  replied  fully  to  her  query,  volunteered  no  further 
information.  In  desperation  the  post-mistress  demanded: 

"Well,  then,  why  do  you  keep  it  to  yourself?" 

"Is  that  any  of  your  business,  Miss  Pickett?" 

"No,  of  course  not.    But  then — " 

"Well?" 

Miss  Pickett  was  non-plussed,  but  only  for  an  instant. 
Like  all  old  maids  when  bested  in  a  battle  of  wits  by  an 
opponent  of  their  own  sex,  younger,  more  attractive  and 
known  to  be  popular  with  the  males  of  their  acquaintance, 
Miss  Pickett  was  quick  to  take  the  high  ground  of  a  tactful 
consideration  of  circumstances  which  Donna  apparently 
had  overlooked;  circumstances  which,  while  savoring 
slightly  of  girlish  indiscretion,  might,  nevertheless,  be  con 
strued  as  a  distinct  slip  from  virtue.  An  attack,  whether 
by  innuendo  or  direct  assertion,  on  a  sister's  virtue  is  ever 
the  first  weapon  of  a  mean  and  disappointed  woman,  and 
having  no  other  charms  to  speak  of,  Miss  Pickett  chose  to 
assume  that  of  superior  virtue;  so,  with  the  subtle  sting 
of  her  species,  she  sunk  her  poison  home. 

"Well,  Donna,  if  you  won't  protect  your  own  good 
name,  I'm  sure  you  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  your  friends 
endeavor  to  protect  it  for  you.  Everybody  in  town  knows 
you  kept  that  man  at  your  home  for  a  month — " 

"I  haven't  denied  it,  or  attempted  to  conceal  the  fact. 
In  what  manner  does  that  reflect  on  my  good  name,  Mis» 
Pickett?" 

"Well,  folks  will  talk— you  know  that." 

"Of  course  I  know  they  will.  That's  their  privilege, 
Miss  Pickett,  and  I'm  not  at  all  interested,  I  assure  you." 
She  smiled  patronizingly  at  the  postmistress.  "When  I 
want  somebody  to  protect  my  good  name,  Miss  Pickett,  I'll 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  255] 

send  for  a  man.  Until  then  you  may  consider  yourself 
relieved  of  the  task.1" 

"Well,  when  people  know  you've  kept  a  desperate  charac 
ter—" 

"Who  knows  it,  Miss  Pickett?    Do  you?" 

Miss  Pickett  was  forced  to  acknowledge  that  she  did  not* 
and  under  a  hot  volley  of  questions  from  Donna  admitted! 
.further  that  not  a  soul  in  San  Pasqual  had  even  hinted  to 
her  of  such  a  contingency.  Too  late  the  spinster  realized 
that  she  had,  figuratively  speaking,  placed  all  of  her  eggs 
in  one  bucket  and  scrambled  them. 

Donna  realized  it  too.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
was  angry,  although  not  for  worlds  would  she  permit  Miss 
Pickett  to  realize  it.  She  had  the  postmistress  on  the  de 
fensive  now,  and  she  was  determined  to  keep  her  there; 
so,  in  calm  gentle  commiserating  tones  Donna  read  the 
riot  act  to  the  embarrassed  gossip.  Mentally,  morally, 
physically  and  socially,  she  was  Miss  Pickett 's  superior  and 
Miss  Pickett  knew  this;  her  instinctive  knowledge  of  it 
placed  her  at  a  disadvantage  and  forced  her  to  listen  to  a 
few  elegantly  worded  remarks  on  charity,  the  folly  of  play 
ing  the  part  of  guardian  of  a  sister 's  morals  and  the  innate 
nastiness  of  throwing  mud.  It  was  a  rare  grueling  that 
Donna  gave  Miss  Pickett ;  the  pity  of  it  was  that  Mr.  Hen- 
nage  could  not  have  been  there  to  listen  to  it. 

The  postmistress  was  confounded.  She  could  think  of 
nothing  to  say  in  reply  until  the  right  moment  for  saying 
it  had  fled;  and  her  pride  forbade  her  acknowledging  de 
feat  by  tossing  her  head  and  walking  out  with  a  grand  air 
of  injured  innocence.  In  the  end  she  lost  her  composure 
entirely,  for  while  Donna's  remarks  had  seemed  designed 
for  the  "folks"  whom  Miss  Pickett  seemed  to  fear  might 
"talk,"  the  latter  knew  that  in  reality  they  were  directed 
at  her. 

To  be  forced  to  listen  to  an  almost  motherly  castigation 
from  Donna  Corblay  was  too  great  a  tax  upon  Miss  Pickett1^ 


256  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

limited  powers  of  endurance.  She  flew  into  a  rage,  all  the 
more  pitiful  because  it  was  impotent,  murmured  something 
about  the  ingratitude  of  some  people — "not  mentionin'  any 
names,  but  not  exceptin'  present  company,"  and  swept 
out  of  the  eating-house;  not,  however,  until  she  had  com 
menced  to  cry,  thus  acknowledging  her  defeat  and  humili 
ation  and  presenting  to  San  Pasqual  that  meanest  of  all 
mean  sights,  a  mean  old  maid,  in  a  rage,  weeping  until  her 
eyes  and  nose  are  red. 

In  the  afternoon  Donna  had  a  visit  from  a  Wells  Fargo  & 
Company  detective.  He  was  a  large  fatherly  person,  who 
might  have  had  girls  of  his  own  as  old  as  Donna,  and  he 
stated  his  mission  without  embarrassment  of  preliminary 
verbal  skirmishing.  "From  various  sources  around  town, 
Miss  Corblay,  I  gather  that  it  is  quite  possible  you  are  ac 
quainted  with  the  man  McGraw  who  is  suspected  of  the 
recent  stage  robbery  at  Garlock." 

Donna  admitted,  smiling,  that  it  was  quite  possible. 

"Have  you  any  objection  to  telling  me  all  you  know 
about  him?" 

"Not  the  slightest.  It  is  your  business  to  investigate 
this  matter,  and  I  have  refrained  from  telling  others  whose 
business  it  is  not.  If  I  have  your  word  of  honor  that  what 
I  tell  you  is  for  the  company  you  represent  and  not  for 
the  gossips  of  San  Pasqual,  I  can  save  you  time  and  trouble 
and  expense." 

"Thank  you.  It  is  a  rare  pleasure,  I  assure  you,  Miss 
Corblay,  for  a  man  in  my  line  of  work  to  receive  such  a 
prompt,  courteous  and  businesslike  answer  from  a  woman. 
You  have  my  word  that  anything  you  tell  me  is  in  confi 
dence." 

"Did  Miss  Pickett  send  you  here?" 

"Indirectly.  She  gave  some  information  to  our  express 
messenger  who  in  turn  gave  it  to  me.  I  might  add  that  the 
interest  of  our  messenger  ceased  when  I  took  up  this  case.'8 

"Very  well"  replied  Donna,  and  proceeded  to  tell  him. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  257 

with  infinite  detail,  everything  she  knew  concerning  Bob 
McGraw,  excepting  the  fact  that  he  was  her  husband.  In 
five  minutes  she  had  tightened  the  web  of  circumstantial 
evidence  around  him,  and  then  unloosened  it,  and  at  the 
finish  of  her  recital  the  detective  had  no  questions  to  ask. 
He  held  out  his  hand  and  shook  hers  warmly. 

' '  I  think  you  have  solved  this  case  for  me,  Miss  Corblay. 
However,  there  is  one  matter  that  will  be  hard  to  over 
come,  and  that  is  the  identification  of  McGraw  by  the 
passenger,  Carey." 

"Who?" 

*'A  passenger.  His  name  is  T.  Morgan  Carey,  of  Los 
Angeles.  He  is  rather  prominent  in  business  circles — a 
pretty  sane,  careful  man,  and  his  testimony  would  have 
considerable  evidence  with  a  jury." 

' '  Find  out  from  the  messenger  if  Carey  identified  Bob — 
I  mean  Mr.  McGraw  (the  detective  smiled  slightly)  before 
the  messenger  gave  chase  to  the  hold-up  man,  or  after  he 
returned  with  the  hat.  If  the  latter,  I  can  explode  his 
testimony.  I  happen  to  know  that  Mr.  Carey  is  a  business 
rival  of  Mr.  McGraw 's  and  very  unfriendly  to  him.  It 
would  be  to  Carey's  great  financial  advantage  to  see  Bob 
(again  the  detective  smiled)  in  jail.  Then  ask  your  agent 
at  Keeler  to  make  inquiry  and  learn  if  a  tall  young  man 
with  auburn  hair  didn't  ride  into  town  the  day  following 
the  hold-up,  mounted  on  a  roan  horse.  If  he  sold  the 
horse,  saddle  and  spurs,  purchased  two  burros  and  outfitted 
in  Keeler  for  a  prospecting  trip,  that  man  was  Mr.  Kobert 
McGraw  and  he  didn't  arrive  bareheaded.  I  think  you'll 
discover  that  you're  following  a  false  lead." 

The  detective  could  guess  a  thing  or  two;  otherwise  he 
would  not  have  been  a  detective.  He  guessed  something 
of  Donna's  more  than  friendly  interest  in  the  man  he  was 
after;  an  interest  which  he  felt  to  be  greater  than  a  mere 
feeling  of  gratitude  for  what  McGraw  had  saved  her  from, 
and  his  sympathies  were  with  her.  She  had  been  "open 


258  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

and  above  board  with  him"  and  he  appreciated  the  em 
barrassment  that  might  attend  should  the  matter  be  given 
publicity. 

' '  Whatever  I  discover  will  not  be  made  public,  Miss  Cor- 
blay.  Thank  you." 

He  lifted  his  hat  and  walked  out,  while  Donna,  selecting 
one  of  the  late  magazines  from  the  news-stand,  sat  dowa 
and  read  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

Eight  days  passed  before  the  detective  appeared  again 
at  the  counter. 

"Miss  Corblay,"  he  reported  smiling,  "you're  a  better 
detective  than  I.  McGraw  didn't  do  the  job — that  is,  your 
• — Bob.  But  some  other  McGraw  did.  The  fact  is,  he's 
sent  back  the  money  he  lifted  from  the  company  and  the 
passengers.  At  least,  a  number  of  them  have  reported  the 
return  of  their  cash.  Here 's  a  note  the  agent  here  received 
a  little  while  ago." 

He  passed  a  type-written  sheet  across  the  counter  to  her. 
Donna  read  it  carefully. 

"The  plot  thickens.  However,  this  is  only  added  proof 
that  my  line  of  reasoning  is  correct.  This  line,  'I  didn't 
have  no  business  to  do  it  in  the  first  place,'  clinches  the 
testimony.  The  Robert  McGraw  of  my  acquaintance  never 
uses  double  negatives." 

' '  And  he  couldn  't  have  arrived  in  Goldfield  with  a  burro 
train  in  less  than  six  weeks.  You  say  this  man  uses  double 
negatives.  There's  a  clew.  Who,  among  your  acquaint 
ances,  Miss  Corblay,  uses  double  negatives?" 

"Every  soul  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  McGraw"  replied 
Donna.  ' '  Following  a  clew  like  that  in  San  Pasqual  would 
be  like  looking  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack.  But  I  think  I 
could  name  the  man  who  wrote  that  note." 

"Who  is  he?" 

Donna  favored  the  detective  with  a  mocking  little  smile. 

"He's  a  friend  of  mine"  she  said,  "and  I  never  go  back 
on  a  friend." 

"Well,"  he  replied  jokingly,  "I  can't  imagine  a  friend 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  259 

going  back  on  you.  However,  I  '11  not  be  curious  about  this 
chap.  He  appears  contrite,  and  the  incident  is  closed. 
But  all  the  same,  this  is  one  of  the  queerest  cases  I've  had 
in  all  my  experience,"  and  he  went  out,  still  puzzled. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THANKSGIVING  came  and  went,  and  with  the  ap* 
proach  of  Christmas  came  the  knowledge  to  Donna 
that  her  tour  of  duty  behind  the  cash-counter  of 
the  eating-house  was  rapidly  drawing  to  a  close — for  the 
very  sweetest  reason  in  all  this  sad  old  world;  a  reason 
as  yet  apparent  to  no  one  in  San  Pasqual  but  Donna  her 
self;  a  very  tiny  reason  against  whose  coming  Donna  had 
commenced  to  plan  and  sew  in  the  lonely  hours  of  her  vigil 
at  the  Hat  Ranch,  waiting  for  Bob  to  come  back,  that  she 
might  impart  to  him  the  secret.  Yes,  indeed,  a  most  valid 
reason.  Donna  hoped  it  would  be  a  man-baby,  with  wavy 
auburn  hair  like  Bob's. 

On  the  first  of  February  she  gave  notice  of  her  intention 
to  resign  her  position  on  the  first  of  the  following  month. 
Bob  had  left  with  her  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  the 
balance  of  her  little  capital  having  been  expended  during 
their  honeymoon  trip  and  in  outfitting  Bob  for  his  trip 
into  the  desert,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  the  thousand 
dollars  so  thoughtfully  provided  by  Harley  P.  was  still 
in  the  eating-house  safe,  Donna  would  have  been  placed  in 
a  most  embarrassing  position.  With  the  knowledge  that 
she  had  ample  funds  with  which  to  maintain  herself  and 
her  dependents  at  the  Hat  Ranch  until  the  birth  of  her 
child,  however,  Donna  decided  to  remove  herself  from  the 
prying  gaze  of  the  San  Pasqualians  by  resigning  her  posi 
tion.  The  fact  that  her  marriage  to  Bob  was  not  known 
in  the  little  town  was  now  an  added  embarrassment,  and 
the  necessity  of  conveying  to  the  world  the  news  that  she 
had  been  married  since  October  was  imperative.  She  de 
cided  to  go  up  to  Bakersfield,  visit  the  city  hall  and  request 
the  clerk  who  had  issued  the  license  to  Bob  and  herself  to 

2*0 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  261 

give  the  news  of  its  issuance  to  the  papers.  She  was  aware 
that  Bob  knew  this  clerk  and  for  that  reason  they  had  been 
enabled  to  keep  the  matter  secret. 

But  the  news  that  Donna  Corblay  had  resigned  the  best 
position  obtainable  for  a  woman  in  San  Pasqual — and  that, 
without  assigning  any  reason  for  her  extraordinary  action 
• — spread  quickly,  and  Mrs.  Pennycook,  with  envious  eyes 
on  the  position  for  her  eldest  daughter,  visited  the  hotel 
manager  and  tried  her  persuasive  personality  to  that  end. 

After  that  visit,  there  was  no  need  for  explanation, 
Mrs.  Pemiycook,  with  horrified  mien  and  many  repetitions 
of  "But  for  heaven's  sake  don't  mention  my  name,"  fur 
nished  the  explanation — and  to  a  lady  of  Mrs.  Pennycook 'a 
large  experience  in  matters  of  maternity,  there  was  no 
heretic  in  San  Pasqual  who  doubted  the  authenticity  of  her 
verdict. 

Of  the  whisperings,  the  interchange  of  gossip  and  eager 
speculation  as  to  the  identity  of  the  man  in  the  case,  the 
haughty  stare  of  the  women  and  the  covert  smiles  of  the 
men,  Donna  was  not  long  kept  in  ignorance.  On  the  fif 
teenth  of  the  month  the  manager  came  to  her,  announced 
that  he  had  already  been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  her 
successor,  paid  her  a  full  month's  salary,  and  with  a  few 
perfunctory  r^iiarks  touching  on  his  regret  at  losing  her 
services,  indicated  that  she  might  forthwith  retire  to  that 
seclusion  which  awaited  her  at  the  Hat  Ranch.  Donna, 
proud,  scornful,  unafraid  in  the  knowledge  that  she  was 
an  honorable  wife,  deemed  it  beneath  her  dignity  to  reply. 
She  removed  her  little  capital  from  the  safe,  balanced  her 
cash  and  r/alked  out  of  the  eating-house  forever. 

She  had  rome  to  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Her  condition 
demanded  the  immediate  presence  of  her  husband,  notwith 
standing  the  fact  that  to  call  him  in  from  his  wanderings 
now  might  mean  the  abandonment  of  his  great  dreams  of 
Donnaville.  Ail  her  life  she  had  needed  a  protector ;  more 
than  ever  she  needed  one  now,  and  she  was  torn  between  8: 
desire  for  the  comfort  of  his  presence  and  an  equal  desirq 


262  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

to  sacrifice  that  comfort  to  his  great  work,  by  refraining 
from  sending  Sam  Singer  into  the  desert  with  a  message 
to  him.  She  knew  she  could  send  Sam  over  the  Santa  Fe 
to  Danby,  and  in  the  miner's  outfitting  store  there  Sam 
would  be  directed  to  the  country  where  Bob's  claims  lay. 
For  two  days  she  wrestled  with  this  problem,  deciding 
finally  to  prove  herself  worthy  of  him  and  face  the  issue 
alone. 

But  the  time  had  come  when  San  Pasqual,  representing 
Society,  must  be  accorded  the  right  which  Society  very 
justly  demands — the  right  to  know  whether  its  members 
are  conforming  to  all  of  the  law,  moral  and  legal.  Donna 
realized  that  her  silence  in  the  matter  of  her  marriage  had 
placed  her  in  an  unenviable  light,  and  while  she  was  striv 
ing  to  formulate  a  plan  to  make  the  announcement  grace 
fully,  Mrs.  Pennycook,  emboldened  by  the  absence  of  Har- 
ley  P.  Hennage,  gathered  about  her  a  committee  of  five 
other  ladies  and  swooped  down  on  the  Hat  Ranch. 

Donna  was  standing  at  her  front  gate  when  this  purity 
squad  approached.  She  guessed  their  mission  instantly, 
and  welcomed  it.  "Whether  gracefully  or  ungracefully,  the 
matter  would  soon  be  over  now,  and  it  pleased  her  a  little 
to  note  that  all  six  ladies  were  leading  matrons  of  the  little 
town.  Each  member  of  Mrjs.  Pennycook 's  committee  re 
flected  in  her  face  mingled  sadness,  embarrassment  and 
curiosity.  For  three  of  them  Donna  felt  a  genuine  regard ; 
she  realized  that  their  visit  was  actuated  by  a  desire  to 
help  her,  if  she  required  help,  to  lend  her  their  moral  sup 
port  in  the  face  of  suspicion,  whether  just  or  otherwise. 
The  other  three,  including  Mrs.  Pennycook,  Donna  knew 
for  that  detestable  type  of  womankind  best  known  and 
described  as  "catty."  Some  one  of  these  three  who  knew 
would  fire  the  first  gun  in  this  most  embarrassing  cam 
paign,  and  in  order  to  nullify  their  fire  as  much  as  possible, 
Donna  decided  not  to  wait  for  that  opening  broadside,  but 
ito  sweep  them  off  their  feet  by  a  wave  of  candor  and  franfe- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  263 

ness,  leaving  them  stunned  with  surprise  and  ashamed  of 
their  own  suspicions. 

Upon  its  arrival,  therefore,  Donna  greeted  the  delegation 
cordially,  receiving  an  equally  cordial  return  of  the  greet 
ing  from  all  except  Mrs.  Pennycook,  who  swept  into  the 
Hat  Ranch  in  dignified  silence,  head  up  and  nose  in  the 
air,  after  the  manner  of  one  who  scents  a  moral  stench  and 
is  resolved  to  eradicate  it  at  all  hazard. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure"  Donna  said  hos 
pitably.  "Do  come  in  out  of  this  dreadful  heat.  I've 
just  finished  baking  a  lovely  layer  cake  and  you're  all  just 
in  time  to  sample  my  cooking.  Ill  have  Soft  "Wind  make 
some  lemonade.  We  scarcely  require  ice  here,  the  water 
from  my  artesian  well  is  so  remarkably  cool." 

Graciously  she  herded  them  all  into  the  shady  patio, 
brought  out  chairs  and  ordered  Soft  Wind  to  prepare  a 
huge  pitcher  of  lemonade,  while  she  herself  carried  out  a 
small  table,  spread  a  tablecloth  over  it  and  crowned  it 
with  a  layer  cake,  seven  plates,  and  the  accessories. 

The  delegation  squirmed  uneasily.  The  cordiality  of 
this  reception  and  Donna's  apparent  pleasure  at  the  visit, 
together  with  her  total  lack  of  embarrassment,  placed  the 
ladies  at  a  decided  disadvantage.  Even  Mrs.  Pennycook 
found  it  a  tax  on  her  ingenuity  to  solve  tactfully  the  prob 
lem  of  accepting  Donna's  layer  cake  and  cool  lemonade  in 
one  breath  and  questioning  her  morals  in  the  other — if  this 
phraseology  may  be  employed  to  designate  the  problem 
without  casting  opprobrium  on  Mrs.  Pennycook 's  table 
manners. 

There  was  a  silence  as  Donna  poured  the  lemonade  and 
helped  each  visitor  to  a  section  of  the  layer  cake.  When 
she  had  finished,  however,  she  leaned  her  elbows  on  the 
little  table,  gazed  calmly  and  a  little  roguishly  at  each  guest 
in  turn,  and  stole  their  thunder  with  a  single  question : 

"How  did  you  all  discover  that  I  am  married?" 

The  silence  was  painful,  until  Mrs.  Pennycook  choked! 


264  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

on  a  cake  crumb.  It  was  a  question  none  of  them  could 
answer,  and  this  very  fact  made  the  silence  more  appalling  i 
Even  Mrs.  Pennycook,  who  had  organized  the  expedition, 
blushed.  Finally  she  stammered: 

"We — we — well,  to  tell  the  truth,  we  hadn't  heard." 

Donna's  eyes  were  wide  with  simulated  amazement. 

"You  hadn't  heard?" 

"No"  snapped  Mrs.  Pennycook,  quick  to  see  her 
opening,  "but  we  were  all  hoping  to  hear — for  your 
sake." 

"But  you  guessed  something  when  I  resigned  my  posi 
tion  at  the  eating-house?" 

Donna  could  scarce  restrain  a  smile  as  she  saw  the  eager 
ness  with  which  Mrs.  Pennycook  showed  in  her  true  colors 
by  walking  blindly  into  this  verbal  trap.  A  slight  sardonic 
smile  nickered  across  her  stern  features. 

"We  didn't  suspect.  Everybody  in  town  knew.  And, 
not  to  beat  about  the  bush,  Miss  Corblay,  we  came  here 
to-day  to  find  out.  Yfe're  old  enough  to  be  your  mother 
and  we  have  daughters  of  our  own,  and  in  a  certain  sense, 
havin'  known  you  from  a  baby,  we  felt  sort  o'  responsible- 
like." 

"Ah,  I  see"  Donna  almost  breathed.  "You  were  sus- 
picious-like." 

Two  of  the  committee  showed  signs  of  inward  dis 
turbance,  but,  having  fixed  bayonets,  Mrs.  Pennycook  was 
now  prepared  to  charge. 

"We  came  to  find  out  if  you're  an  honorable  married 
woman,  or — " 

"Quite  right,  Mrs.  Pennycook.  That  is  information 
which  you,  and  in  fact  every  person  in  San  Pasqual,  is  en 
titled  to  know.  I  am  an  honorable  married  woman.  I  was 
married  in  Bakersfield  on  the  seventeenth  day  of  last 
October." 

"Well,  then,  where 's  your  husband?" 

"That  is  a  question  which  you  are  not  privileged  to  ask, 
Mrs.  Pennycook.  However,  I  will  answer  it.  My  hus- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  265 

band  is  about  his  lawful  business  somewhere  in  the  Colo 
rado  desert." 

"Who  is  this  man?" 

"My  husband's  name  is  Robert  McGraw." 

Six  separate  and  distinct  gasps  greeted  this  announce 
ment  extraordinary.  A  tear  trembled  on  the  eyelid  of  one 
of  the  ladies  of  whom  Donna  was  really  fond  and  whom 
she  had  reason  to  believe  was  fond  of  her. 

"Well,  dearie"  replied  Mrs.  Pennycook  unctuously,  "it's 
kind  o'  hard-like  to  tell  whether,  in  your  present — er — • 
delicate  condition,  you're  better  off  unmarried-like,  or  the 
wife  of  a  man  accused  of  holdin'  up  a  stage  at  Garlock." 

"It  is  embarrassing,  isn't  it?"  Donna  laughed.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  angry  with  Mrs.  Pennycook.  In  fact, 
the  gossip  amused  her  very  much,  and  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  day  of  reckoning  coming  to  Mrs.  Pennycook  she 
could  afford  to  laugh.  "What  does  Dan  think  about  it?" 

"Mr.  Pennycook,  if  you  please"  corrected  his  wife. 
"We  will  not  mention  his  name  in  this  matter." 

' '  Well,  then,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Pennycook  ? ' ' 

"To  be  perfectly  frank-like,  an'  not  meanin'  any  offense, 
I  think,  Miss  Corblay,  that  you  drove  your  pigs  to  a 
mighty  poor  market. ' ' 

"It  does  look  that  way"  Donna  acquiesced  good-na 
turedly.  "  I  '11  admit  that  appearances  are  against  my  hus 
band.  However,  since  I  know  that  the  charge  is  ridiculous, 
I  shall  not  dishonor  him  by  making  a  defense  where  none 
is  necessary,  He  will  be  in  San  Pasqual  about  the  first 
of  April,  Mrs.  Pennycook,  and  if  at  that  time  you  desire 
to  learn  the  circumstances,  he  will  be  charmed,  I  know,  to 
relate  them  to  you. ' ' 

"I  am  not  interested"  retorted  the  gossip. 

"Judging  by  this  unexpected  visit  and  your  pointed  re 
marks,  dear  Mrs.  Pennycook,  I  think  I  might  be  pardoned 
for  presuming  that  you  were." 

Mrs.  Pennycook  made  no  reply,  for  obvious  reasons. 
The  sortie  for  information  had  been  too  successful  to  please 


266  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

her,  and  in  Donna's  present  mood  the  elder  woman  knew 
that  she  would  fare  but  poorly  in  a  battle  of  wits.  Indeed, 
she  already  stood  in  a  most  unenviable  position  in  San 
Pasqual  society,  as  the  leader  of  an  unwarranted  attack 
against  a  virtuous  woman,  and  her  busy  brain  was  already 
at  work,  mending  her  fences.  In  the  interview  with  Donna 
she  had  expected  tears  and  anguish.  Instead  she  had  been 
met  with  smiles  and  good-natured  raillery;  and  she  had  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  her  fellow  committeewomen 
were  already  enraged  at  her  and  preparing  to  turn  against 
her.  She  drank  her  lemonade  hastily  and  explained  that 
their  visit  had  been  for  the  purpose  of  setting  at  rest  cer 
tain  unpleasant  rumors  in  San  Pasqual,  wherein  Donna's 
reputation  had  suffered.  If  the  rumors  had  proved  to  be 
without  foundation  they  would  have  felt  it  their  ftusiness 
to  nip  the  scandal  in  the  bud.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the 
rumors  were  based  on  truth,  they  had  planned  to  give  her 
a  Christian  helping  hand  toward  regeneration. 

11 1  am  very  glad  you  did  me  the  honor  to  call"  Donna 
told  the  committee.  "I  had  kept  my  marriage  secret,  for 
reason  of  my  own,  and  I  am  glad  now  that  my  friends  will 
brand  these  rumors  as  malicious  and  untrue." 

The  committee  left  in  almost  as  deep  sorrow  as  it  had 
come.  Donna  walked  with  them  to  the  front  gate,  and  at 
parting  two  of  the  women  kissed  her,  whispering  hurried 
words  of  faith  in  her,  and  from  the  bottom  of  their  truly 
generous  womanly  souls  they  meant  it.  Donna  knew  they 
did,  and  was  deeply  grateful.  In  the  case  of  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook,  however,  she  had  no  such  illusion.  She  knew  that 
disappointed  vengeance  had  served  to  sharpen  Mrs.  Penny- 
cook's  unaccountable  and  unnatural  dislike  for  her,  and  it 
was  with  secret  relief  that  she  watched  the  members  of  the 
committee  on  social  purity  return  to  their  respective  homes. 

The  following  morning  Mrs.  Pennycook  departed  on  a 
journey  to  Bakersfield,  the  county-seat.  Here  she  invaded 
the  marriage  license  bureau  and  requested  an  inspection  of 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  267 

the  record  of  the  marriage  license  issued  to  Robert  McGraw 
and  Donna  Corblay  on  October  seventeenth. 

To  Mrs.  Pennycook 's  profound  satisfaction  there  was  no 
record  of  such  a  license  available.  Business  in  the  mar 
riage  bureau  was  dull  that  day,  and  the  license  clerk  turned 
over  to  Mrs.  Pennycook  the  bound  book  of  affidavit  blanks, 
which  constitutes  the  record  of  the  county  clerk's  office 
and  from  which  the  deputy  clerk  fills  in  the  marriage 
license  when  he  issues  it.  She  searched  through  the  rec 
ords  from  August  up  to  that  very  day — searched  pains 
takingly  and  thrice  in  succession,  while  the  deputy  looked 
on  covertly  from  a  nearby  desk  and  smiled  at  her  activities. 
He  might  have  informed  Mrs.  Pennycook  that  the  record 
of  the  issuance  of  a  license  to  his  friend  Bob  McGraw  and 
Donna  Corblay  could  be  found  in  the  back  of  the  book, 
where  it  would  not  be  discovered  by  the  newspaper  re 
porters  who  came  each  day  to  make  notations  of  the  licenses 
issued.  It  is  an  old  trick,  this ;  to  fill  in  the  affidavit  blank 
toward  the  back  of  the  book,  where  the  record  will  not  be 
reached  in  the  regular  course  of  business  until  a  year  or 
more  shall  have  elapsed.  The  deputy  county  clerk  was  a 
friend  of  Bob  McGraw 's  and  as  he  had  promised  not  to 
give  him  away,  he  would  keep  his  word ;  so  he  snickered  to 
himself  and  wondered  if  this  acidulous  lady  could,  by  any 
chance,  be  McGraw 's  mother-in-law.  If  so,  he  felt  sorry 
for  McGraw.  He  sniffed  a  quick  divorce. 

Mrs.  Pennycook  could  not  find  the  record  she  sought, 
and  demanded  further  information.  The  clerk  informed 
her  gravely  that,  aside  from  personal  experience,  all  the 
information  on  marriages  in  Kern  county  was  contained 
in  the  book  before  her ;  so  Mrs.  Pennycook  returned  to  San 
Pasqual,  vindicated  in  the  eyes  of  the  committee  on  indi 
vidual  morals. 

The  following  day  Mrs.  Pennycook  called  a  meeting  in 
her  front  parlor,  and  to  the  credit  of  San  Pasqual 's  woman 
hood  be  it  said  that  two  of  the  committee  failed  to  respond. 


268  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

However,  Miss  Molly  Picket!  volunteered  to  enlist  for  the 
cause,  and  a  quorum  being  present  Mrs.  Pennycook  an 
nounced  that  Donna  Corblay's  statement  that  she  was  a 
wife  had  not  been  substantiated  by  the  records  of  the 
county  clerk's  office.  Having  examined  the  records  per 
sonally,  Mrs.  Pennycook  felt  safe  in  assuming  responsibility 
for  the  statement  that  Donna  Corblay  was  not  married, 
despite  her  claims  to  the  contrary. 

"Then,"  murmured  Miss  Pickett  sadly,  "she  is  not  an 
honest  woman!" 

"Decidedly  not." 

"I  expected  this — for  years"  Miss  Pickett  continued, 
and  wiped  away  a  furtive  tear.  "Poor  girl.  After  all, 
we  shouldn't  be  surprised.  I'm  afraid  she  comes  by  it 
naturally.  There  was  a  mystery  about  her  mother." 

"Well,  there's  no  mystery  about  Donna"  retorted  Mrs. 
Pennycook  triumphantly.  "She's  a  disgrace  to  the  com 
munity.  ' ' 

"What  can  be  done  about  it?"  one  of  the  committee 
inquired. 

"I  believe,"  another  volunteered,  "that  in  San  Fran 
cisco  and  Los  Angeles  they  have  homes  for  unfortunate 
girls.  If  we  can  induce  her  to  go  to  one  of  these  institu 
tions,  it  seems  to  me  it  is  our  duty  to  do  so. ' ' 

"I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair"  protested  Mrs. 
Pennycook.  "I  went  down  there,  as  you  all  know,  an' 
did  all  the  talking  and  acted  sympathetic-like,  an'  got 
insulted  for  my  pains.  I'll  not  go  again." 

"Perhaps  you  didn't  approach  the  subject  just  right, 
Mrs.  Pennycook — not  meanin'  any  offense — but  you  know 
Donna's  one  of  the  high  an'  mighty  kind,  an'  you  an' 
her  ain't  been  any  too  friendly.  I  think,  maybe,  if  /  was 
to  talk  to  her,  now — " 

"I'm  sure  you're  welcome,  Miss  Pickett.  Somebody 
ought  to  reason  with  her  like  before  the  thing  gets  too 
public,  an'  I  don't  seem  to  have  the  right  influence  with 
the  girl." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  269 

"I'll  go  call  on  her,  if  one  or  two  others  will  go  with 
me"  Miss  Pickett  volunteered.  She  omitted  to  mention 
the  fact  that  company  or  no  company,  she  would  not  have 
missed  the  opportunity  of  taunting  Donna  for  a  farm. 
However,  two  other  ladies  decided  to  go  with  Miss  Pickett, 
and  forthwith  the  three  set  out  for  the  Hat  Ranch. 

There  was  no  layer  cake  and  lemonade  reception  await 
ing  them  at  the  Hat  Ranch.  Donna,  upon  being  informed 
by  Soft  Wind  that  three  ladies  desired  to  interview  her, 
met  the  delegation  in  her  kitchen,  which  they  had  entered 
uninvited.  She  surveyed  the  nervous  trio  coldly. 

"Is  this  another  investigating  committee?"  ehe  de 
manded  bluntly. 

"Well,  in  view  o'  the  fact  that  there  never  was  any 
marriage  license  issued  to  you  an'  that — that  stage-rob 
ber— 

"Miss  Pickett — and  you  other  two  shining  examples  of 
Christian  charity!  Please  leave  my  home  at  once.  Do 
you  hear  ?  At  once !  I  have  no  explanations  or  apologies 
to  make,  and  if  I  had  I  would  not  make  them  to  a  soul  in 
San  Pasqual.  Leave  my  home  instantly." 

The  three  ladies  stood  up.  Two  of  them  scurried  toward 
the  door,  but  Miss  Pickett  lingered,  showing  a  disposition 
to  argue  the  question.  She  had  "walled"  her  eyes  and 
pulled  her  mouth  down  in  the  most  approved  facial  ex 
pression  of  one  who,  proffering  help  to  the  unfortunate, 
realizes  that  ingratitude  is  to  be  her  portion. 

Through  the  aboriginal  brain  of  Soft  Wind,  however, 
some  hint  of  the  situation  had  by  this  time  managed  to 
sift.  The  presence  of  two  delegations  of  female  visitors  in 
one  week  was  unprecedented;  and  in  her  slow  dumb  way 
she  realized  that  the  condition  of  her  mistress  was  probably 
being  questioned  by  these  white  women. 

Now,  Soft  Wind  had  been  Donna's  nurse,  and  since  the 
squaw  was  untroubled  by  the  finer  question  of  morality 
in  a  lady  (the  mere  trifle  of  a  marriage  license  had  been 
no  bar  to  her  own  primitive  alliance  with  Sam  Singer)  it 


270  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

irked  her  to  stand  idly  by  while  these  white  women  offeree 
insult  to  her  adored  one.  She  could  not  understand  what 
was  being  said  (Donna  always  spoke  to  her  in  the  language 
of  her  tribe,  a  language  learned  in  her  babyhood  from  Soft 
Wind  herself)  but  she  did  know  by  the  pale  face  and 
flashing  eyes  that  Donna  was  angry. 

"I  came  to  tell — "  began  Miss  Pickett. 

Donna  pointed  toward  the  door.     "Go"  she  commanded. 

Still  Miss  Pickett  lingered;  so  Soft  Wind,  whose  forty 
years  of  life  had  been  spent  in  arduous  toil  that  had  mad* 
her  muscles  as  hard  and  firm  as  those  of  most  men,  picked 
Miss  Pickett  up  in  her  arms,  carried  her  out  kicking  and 
screaming  and  tossed  the  spinster  incontinently  over  the 
gate.  Sam  Singer  saw  the  exit  and  favored  his  squaw 
with  the  first  grunt  of  approval  in  many  years.  Donna, 
after  first  ascertaining  that  Miss  Pickett  had  lit  in  the  sand 
and  was  uninjured,  leaned  over  the  gate  and  almost  laughed 
herself  into  hysterics. 

That  was  the  last  effort  made  to  reform  Donna  Corblay. 
In  a  covert  way  Miss  Pickett  and  Mrs.  Pennycook  con 
spired  to  publicly  disgrace  her  and,  branded  as  a  scarlet 
woman,  drive  her  out  of  San  Pasqual,  if  possible.  Donna 
had  declared  war,  and  they  were  prepared  to  accept  the 
challenge. 

Borax  O'Rourke,  with  six  months'  wages  coming  to  him 
from  his  chosen  occupation  of  skinning  mules  up  Keeler 
way,  had  been  sighing  for  the  delights  of  San  Pasqual  and 
an  opportunity  to  spend  his  money  after  the  fashion  of  the 
country.  This  was  not  possible  in  Keeler — at  least  not  on 
the  extravagant  scale  which  obtained  regularly  in  San  Pas 
qual  ;  hence,  when  he  learned  quite  by  chance  that  Harley 
P.  Hennage  was  no  longer  in  that  thriving  hive  of  desert 
iniquity,  Borax  commenced  to  pine  for  some  society  more 
ameliorating  than  that  of  twelve  mules  driven  with  a  jerk- 
line.  In  a  word,  Mr.  O'Eourke  decided  to  quit  his  job, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  271 

go  down  to  San  Pasqual  and  enter  upon  a  butterfly  exist 
ence  until  his  six  months'  pay  should  be  dissipated. 

Accordingly  Borax  O'Rourke  descended,  via  the  stage 
line,  on  San  Pasqual.  He  heralded  his  arrival  and  his  in 
tentions  by  inviting  San  Pasqual  to  drink  with  him,  and 
after  visiting  each  of  its  many  saloons  and  spending  im 
partially  the  while,  he  decided,  along  toward  dusk,  that  he 
had  partaken  of  sufficient  squirrel  whisky  to  give  him  an 
appetite  for  his  dinner,  and  forthwith  shaped  his  some 
what  faltering  course  for  the  eating-house. 

Here  he  discovered  that  Donna  Corblay  was  no  longer 
employed  at  the  cashier's  counter — which  disappointed 
him.  He  ate  his  dinner  in  silence,  and  upon  his  return 
to  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon  he  was  informed,  with  many  a 
low  jest  and  rude  guffaw,  the  reason  for  his  disappoint 
ment.  Whereat  he  laughed  himself. 

Now,  Borax  O'Kourke,  while  a  low,  vulgar,  border  ruf 
fian,  had  what  even  the  lowest  of  his  kind  generally  appear 
to  possess:  a  lingering  sense  of  respect  for  a  good  woman. 
Until  the  night  of  the  attack  upon  her  by  the  hoboes  in  the 
railroad  yard,  he  had  never  dared  to  presume  to  the  extent 
of  speaking  to  Donna  Corblay,  even  when  paying  for  his 
meals,  although  the  democracy  of  San  Pasqual  would  not 
have  construed  speech  at  such  a  time  as  a  breach  of  con 
vention.  For  there  were  no  angels  in  San  Pasqual;  the 
town  was  merely  sunk  in  a  moral  lethargy,  and  the  line  of 
demarcation  in  matters  of  rectitude  was  drawn  between 
those  who  stole  and  had  killed  their  man,  and  those  who 
'Lad  not.  All  the  lesser  sins  were  looked  upon  tolerantly 
as  indigenous  tc  the  soil,  and  as  Borax  O  'Rourke  had  never 
been  accused  of  theft  and  had  never  killed  his  man  (he  had 
been  in  two  arguments,  however,  and  had  winged  his  man 
both  times,  the  winger  and  the  wingee  subsequently  shak 
ing  hands  and  declaring  a  truce),  he  was  not  considered 
beyond  the  pale.  Had  he  spoken  to  Donna  she  readily 
would  have  comprehended  that  he  merely  desired  to  be 


272  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

neighborly;  she  would  have  inquired  the  latest  news  from 
the  borax  works  at  Keeler  and  doubtless  would  have  sold 
him  a  hat. 

Nevertheless,  for  a  long  time,  Borax  O'Rourke  had 
nursed  a  secret  passion  for  the  eating-house  cashier,  a  pas 
sion  that  never  could  have  been  dignified  by  the  term 
"love"  (Borax  was  not  equal  to  that)  but  rather  an  animal- 
like  desire  for  possession.  There  was  considerable  of  the 
abysmal  brute  in  Borax.  He  would  have  been  voted  quite 
a  Lochinvar  in  the  days  when  men  procured  their  wives 
by  right  of  discovery  and  the  ability  to  retain  possession, 
and  had  he  dared,  he  would  have  made  love  to  Donna  in 
his  bearlike  way.  Hence,  as  in  the  case  of  all  pure  women 
in  frontier  towns,  where  rough  men  foregather,  Donna's 
easily  discernible  purity  had  been  her  most  salient  protec 
tion,  and  beyond  such  bulwarks  Borax  O  'Rourke  had  never 
dared  to  venture. 

It  had  been  a  shock,  therefore,  to  Mr.  O'Rourke,  when 
he  discovered  her  that  August  night,  crying  over  a  stranger 
and  kissing  him.  Borax  himself  was  not  a  bad-looking 
fellow,  in  a  rough  out-o '-doors  sort  of  way,  and  while  he 
had  not  been  privileged  to  a  close  scrutiny  of  the  man 
whom  Donna  had  kissed,  still  he  believed  him  td  be  a 
rough-and-ready  individual  like  himself,  and  quite  natu 
rally  the  thought  occurred  to  Borax  that  he,  too,  might 
not  have  been  unwelcome,  had  he  but  possessed  sufficient 
courage  to  make  a  cautious  advance. 

He  was  confirmed  in  this  thought  now  at  the  news  which 
he  heard  upon  the  first  night  of  his  return  to  San  Pasqual, 
and  with  the  thought  that  he  had  been  worshiping  an  idol 
with  feet  of  clay,  Mr.  O'Rourke  cursed  himself  for  an  un 
mitigated  jackass  in  thus  leaving  to  some  other  roving 
rascal  the  prize  which  he  had  so  earnestly  desired  for  him 
self.  "With  the  receipt  of  the  information  about  Donna, 
Mr.  O'Rourke  unconsciously  felt  himself  instantly  on  the 
same  social  level  with  her,  and  since  convention  was  some 
thing  alien  to  his  soul,  and  possession  his  sole  inspiration, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  273 

he  decided  that  he  could  make  his  advances  now  in  full 
confidence  that  he  might  be  successful;  and  if  not,  there 
would  be  no  necessity  for  feeling  sheepish  over  his  rebuff. 

"I'll  ask  her  to  marry  me,  an'  damn  the  odds"  he  de 
cided.  "There's  worse  places  than  the  Hat  Ranch  to  live 
in,  with  a  few  dollars  always  comin'  in.  She'll  be  glad 
enough  of  the  offer,  like  as  not — considerin'  the  circum 
stances,  an'  she  can  send  the  kid  to  an  orphan  asylum." 

By  morning  this  crafty  idea  had  taken  full  possession 
of  Borax,  so  after  fortifying  himself  with  a  half  dozen 
drinks,  he  set  forth  for  the  Hat  Ranch.  Also,  under  the 
influence  of  the  liquor  and  his  overweening  pride  in  his 
bright  idea,  he  had  taken  pains  to  announce  his  destina 
tion  and  the  object  of  his  visit.  A  crowd  of  male  ob 
servers  stood  on  the  porch  of  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon  and 
watched  him  depart,  the  while  they  spurred  him  on  his 
way  with  many  a  jeer  and  jibe. 

Sam  Singer  was  seated  in  the  kitchen  at  the  Hat  Ranch, 
enjoying  an  after-breakfast  cigarette,  when  O'Rourke  came 
to  the  kitchen  door,  hiccoughed  and  made  rough  demand 
for  the  mistress  of  the  house.  Donna,  from  an  adjoining 
room,  heard  him  and  came  into  the  kitchen. 

"Well,  Borax"  she  demanded,  "what  do  you  want?  A 
hat?" 

She  saw  that  he  had  been  drinking,  and  a  sudden  fear 
took  possession  of  her.  With  the  exception  of  her  Indian 
retainer,  Bob  McGraw,  Harley  P.  Hennage  and  Doc  Tay 
lor,  no  male  foot  had  profaned  the  Hat  Ranch  in  twenty 
years,  and  the  presence  of  0  'Rourke  was  a  distinct  menace. 

"Not  on  your  life,  sweetheart"  he  began  pertly,  "I 
want  you." 

Donna  spoke  to  the  Indian  in  the  Cahuilla  tongue,  and 
Sam  Singer  sprang  at  the  mule-skinner  like  a  panther  oa 
an  unsuspecting  deer.  The  lean  mahogany-colored  hands 
closed  around  the  ruffian's  throat,  and  the  two  bodies 
crashed  to  the  floor  together.  O'Rourke,  taken  unaware 
by  the  suddenness  and  ferocity  of  the  attack*  was  no  match, 


274  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

for  the  Indian.  He  endeavored  to  free  his  arm  and  reaclil 
for  his  gun,  but  Sam  Singer  had  anticipated  him.  Already 
the  big  blue  gun  was  in  the  Indian's  possession;  he  raised 
it,  brought  the  butt  down  on  O 'Rourke 's  head,  and  the 
battle  was  over,  almost  before  it  had  fairly  started. 

"Drag  him  outside"  Donna  commanded.  The  Indian 
grasped  0  'Rourke  by  his  legs  and  dragged  him  outside  the 
compound.  Then  he  returned  to  the  kitchen,  secured  a 
bucket,  filled  it  at  the  artesian  well,  and  returning,  dashed 
it  over  the  still  dazed  enemy. 

The  water  did  its  work,  and  presently  0 'Rourke  sat  up. 

"I'll  kill  you  for  this"  he  said;  whereat  Sam  Singer 
struck  him  in  the  face  and  rolled  him  over  in  the  dirt. 
Incidentally,  he  retained  Mr.  O'Rourke's  big  blue  gun  as 
a  souvenir  of  the  fray. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  very  dejected,  bedraggled  mule- 
skinner,  bruised,  bleeding  and  covered  with  sand  whick 
clung  to  his  dripping  person,  returned  to  San  Pasqual,  to 
be  heartily  jeered  at  for  the  result  of  his  pilgrimage  -, 
for  the  San  Pasqualians  noticed  that  not  only  had  Mr. 
0 'Rourke  suffered  defeat,  but  in  the  melee  his  gun  had 
been  taken  from  him,  and  to  suffer  such  humiliation  at  the 
hands  of  a  mere  Indian  was  considered  in  San  Pasqual  the 
very  dregs  and  drainings  of  downright  disgrace. 

For  two  days  Borax  O 'Rourke  drowned  his  chagrin  ia 
the  lethal  waters  of  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon,  and  presently 
to  him  here  there  came  an  anonymous  letter,  containing, 
by  some  devil's  devising,  a  unique  scheme  for  revenge 
on  Donna,  and  on  Sam  Singer,  who  depended  on  her 
bounty.  At  one  stroke  he  could  destroy  them  both,  and 
cast  them  forth  into  the  wide  reaches  of  the  Mojave  desert, 
homeless. 

The  unknown  writer  of  this  anonymous  note  desired  to 
advise  Borax  0 'Rourke  that  Donna  Corblay  had  no  title 
to  the  lands  on  which  the  Hat  Ranch  stood ;  that  the  desert 
was  still  part  of  the  public  domain  and  subject  to  entry; 
that  he,  Borax  0 'Rourke,  might  file  on  forty  acres  sur- 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  275, 

rounding  the  Hat  Ranch,  and  by  demonstrating  that  he 
had  an  artesian  well  on  the  forty,  which  would  irrigate 
one-eighth  of  his  entry,  he  could  obtain  title  to  the  land. 
In  any  event,  after  filing  his  application,  he  would  then 
be  in  a  position  to  evict  his  enemies. 

This  seemed  to  the  brute  O'Rourke  such  a  very  novel 
idea  that  he  decided  to  follow  it  out  immediately.  He  spent] 
that  day  sobering  up,  and  the  next  few  days  in  a  trip  to 
the  land  office  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  up  the  valley 
at  Independence.  Upon  his  return  to  San  Pasqual  he  had! 
old  Judge  Kenny,  the  local  justice  of  the  peace,  serve 
formal  written  notice  upon  Donna  Corblay  to  evacuate 
immediately;  otherwise  he  would  commence  suit. 

The  news  was  over  San  Pasqual  in  an  hour,  and  formed 
the  basis  of  much  discussion  in  the  Silver  Dollar  when 
Borax  O'Rourke  came  into  that  deadfall  about  two  o'clock 
on  the  afternoon  of  his  return. 

Somebody  hailed  him. 

"Well,  Borax,  I  see  you're  goin*  to  play  even.  Dy'ye 
think  you'll  be  able  to  oust  the  girl  from  the  Hat  Ranch? 
The  boys  have  been  discussin'  it,  and  it  looks  like  she 
might  put  up  a  fight  on  squatter's  rights." 

"I'll  git  her  out  all  right"  rambled  O'Rourke,  "an' 
when  I  do,  I'll  chuck  the  old  lady's  bones  after  her.  I'll 
teach  her  an'  that  Indian  o'  hers — " 

Borax  O'Rourke  paused.  His  tongue  clicked  drily 
against  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

Seated  at  a  card-table  across  the  room,  idly  shuffling  a 
deck  of  cards,  sat  Harley  P.  Hennage,  and  he  was  staring 
at  Borax  O'Rourke.  At  the  latter 's  sudden  pause,  a  si 
lence  fell  upon  the  Silver  Dollar,  and  every  man  lined  up 
at  the  long  bar  turned  and  followed  O'Rourke 's  glance. 

For  fully  a  minute  Mr.  Hennage 's  small  baleful  eyes 
flicked  murder  lights  as  their  glance  burned  into 
O'Rourke 's  wolfish  soul.  Then,  quite  calmly,  he  com- 
menced  placing  his  cards  for  a  game  of  solitaire,  and  when 
lie  had  carefully  disposed  of  them  he  spoke; 


276  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"O'Rourke!" 

The  word  was  deep,  throaty,  almost  a  growl.  Simul 
taneously  the  men  nearest  O'Rourke  drifted  quickly  away 
from  him. 

"Well?" 

' '  I  don 't  like  your  game.  Stop  it.  Hand  me  an  assign 
ment  o'  that  desert  entry  o'  yours  by  three  o'clock,  an' 
get  out  o '  town  by  four  o  'clock.  Hear  me  ? " 

" An'  if  I  don't?"  demanded  O'Rourke. 

' '  If  you  don  't, ' '  repeated  Mr.  Hennage  calmly,  ' '  I  shall 
cancel  the  entry  at  one  minute  after  four  o  'clock. ' ' 

"You  can't  bluff  me." 

"I'm  not  bluffin'  this  time,  you  dog.  Do  I  get  that  as 
signment  of  entry?" 

Borax  O'Rourke  knew  that  his  life  might  be  the  price 
of  a  refusal,  but  in  the  presence  of  that  crowd  where  men 
were  measured  by  their  courage  the  remnants  of  his  man 
hood  forbade  him  to  answer  "yes."  He  was  not  a  coward. 

"I'll  be  in  the  middle  o'  the  street  at  four  o'clock"  he 
answered. 

"Got  a  gun?" 

"No." 

The  gambler  threw  him  over  a  twenty-dollar  piece. 

"Go  get  one." 

Borax  O  'Rourke  picked  the  coin  off  the  floor  and  shuffled 
out  of  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon. 

Until  one  minute  past  four  o'clock,  then,  the  incident 
wa&  closed,  and  Mr.  Hennage  returned  to  his  interrupted 
game  of  solitaire. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHY  Harley  P.  Hennage  should  elect  to  return  to 
San  Pasqual  on  the  very  day  that  Borax 
O'Rourke  issued  formal  written  notice  through 
old  Judge  Kenny  for  Donna  to  vacate  the  Hat  Ranch, 
which  stood  upon  the  desert  land  whereon  he  had  filed, 
is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  retributive  justice  with  which 
this  story  has  nothing  to  do.  Suffice  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Hennage  had  stayed  away  from  San  Pasqual  six  months, 
and  six  months  is  a  sufficient  lapse  of  time  for  any  ordi 
nary  public  excitement  to  wear  off,  particularly  in  the 
desert.  He  had  not  intended  returning  so  soon,  but  a  letter 
from  Dan  Pennycook,  to  whom  Mr.  Hennage  had  com 
municated  his  whereabouts,  charging  the  yardmaster  to 
keep  him  in  touch  with  affairs  at  the  Hat  Ranch,  had  pre- 
ripitated  his  descent  upon  San  Pasqual.  He  had  dropped! 
^ff  the  Limited  at  daylight  that  very  morning,  and  by  nine 
o'clock  was  in  possession  of  all  the  facts  regarding  the 
mistress  of  the  Hat  Ranch. 

"  It 's  a  nasty  mix-up,  Harley ' '  Dan  Pennycook  informed 
him,  when  Mr.  Hennage  sought  the  yardmaster  out  in  his 
desire  for  explicit  information  touching  the  hint  of  trouble 
to  Donna  conveyed  in  the  letter  ivhich  Pennycook  had  sent 
him.  ''Her  husband  ain't  never  showed  up,  an'  there 
ain't  no  record  of  her  marriage  license  in  the  county  clerk's 
office." 

' '  How  d  'ye  know  there  ain  't  ? "  the  gambler  demanded. 

*'Ee — er — well,  the  fact  is,  Harley,  Mrs.  Pennycook — " 

"She  went  an'  looked,  eh?" 

' '  Well,  she  was  concerned  about  the  girl 's  reputation — 

"Huh-huh.     I  see.     Dan,  do  you  believe  this  scandal?" 

"Not  a  damned  word  of  it"  said  honest  Dan  firmly, 

277 


278  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"There's  some  mistake.  The  girl's  good.  I've  seen  her 
grow  up  in  this  town  since  she  was  a  baby,  an'  girls  like 
Donna  Corblay  don't  go  wrong." 

Mr.  Hennage  extended  his  freckled,  hairy  hand.  "Dan" 
he  said,  "I  thank  you  for  that.  But  your  missus  ain't 
playin'  fair." 

Pennycook  threw  up  his  hands  deprecatingly.  "I  know 
it"  he  said,  "an'  I  can't  help  it." 

Harley  P.  laid  his  hand  on  the  yardmaster's  shoulder. 
"Dan"  he  said,  "me  an'  you've  been  good  friends,  man 
to  man,  an'  there's  just  a  chance  that  after  to-day  we 
ain't  a-goin'  to  meet  no  more.  You  take  my  compliments 
to  Mrs.  Pennycook,  Dan,  an'  tell  her  that  I've  kept  my 
word,  even  if  she  didn't  keep  hers.  That  worthless  con 
vict  brother-in-law  o'  yours  is  dead,  Dan.  You  can  quit 
worryin'.  He'll  never  blackmail  you  again.  He's  as  dead 
as  a  mackerel  an'  I  seen  him  buried.  Dan,  old  friend, 
adios." 

He  shook  hands  warmly  with  the  yardmaster  and  walked 
over  to  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon,  where,  in  order  to 
smother  his  distress,  he  played  game  after  game  of  soli 
taire.  Here,  shortly  after  his  arrival,  he  had  learned  of 
Borax  O'Rourke's  latest  move,  and  when  the  latter  en 
tered  the  saloon  an  hour  later,  Harley  P.  had  delivered 
his  ultimatum. 

For  an  hour  after  O'Kourke  had  left  the  Silver  Dollar 
for  the  ostensible  purpose  of  purchasing  a  gun,  the  gambler 
continued  to  play  solitaire.  At  three  o'clock  he  arose, 
kicked  back  liis  chair,  sighed,  and  glanced  at  the  crowd 
which  had  been  hanging  around,  watching  him. 

"Twenty  games  to-day  an'  never  beat  it  once"  he  com 
plained.  "No  use  talkin',  boys,  my  luck's  changed."  He 
•walked  to  the  bar,  laid  a  handful  of  gold  thereon  and  gave 
his  order. 

"Wine." 

He  turned  to  the  crowd.  "It  happens  that  there  ain't 
no  officer  o'  the  law  in  San  Pasqual  to-day  to  interfere  w 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  279 

the  forthcomin'  festivities  between  me  an'  O'Rourke.  I 
do  hope  that  none  o'  you  boys  '11  feel  called  on  to  interfere. 
I  take  it  for  granted  you  won't,  out  o'  compliment  to  me, 
an'  as  a  further  compliment  I'd  be  obliged  if  you-all'd 
honor  me  to  the  extent  o'  havin'  a  little  nip." 

The  crowd  shuffled  to  the  bar,  and  a  lanky  prospector  in 
from  the  dry  diggings  at  Coolgardie  spoke  up. 

"I'm  a  stranger  here,  but  111  help  pull  a  rope  tight 
around  that  mule-skinner's  neck.  It  looks  to  me  like  a 
community  job,  an'  if  you  say  the  word,  friend,  I'll  head 
a  movement  to  relieve  you  o'  the  resk  o'  cancelin'  that 
entry. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  old-timer"  replied  Mr.  Hennage  kindly, 
"but  this  is  a  personal  matter,  an'  it's  been  the  custom  in 
this  town  to  let  every  man  kill  his  own  skunks.  All  set, 
boys.  Smoke  up ! " 

Each  of  his  guests  half  turned,  facing  the  gambler.  As 
one  man  they  spoke. 

"How." 

"How"  replied  Harley  P.,  and  tossed  off  his  wine  with. 
evident  relish.  He  pocketed  his  change  and  left  the  saloon ; 
five  minutes  later  he  was  bending  over  a  show-case  in  the 
hardware  department  of  the  general  store,  and  when  his 
purchase  was  completed  he  sat  down  on  a  keg  of  nails,  laid 
his  watch  on  the  counter  before  him,  lit  a  cigar  and  smoked 
until  four  o  'clock ;  then  he  arose. 

He  handed  his  watch  to  the  proprietor. 

"I'd  be  obliged  if  you  was  to  give  that  watch  to  Dan 
Penny  cook"  he  said,  and  walked  out. 

On  the  threshold  he  paused.  A  train,  brown  with  the 
dust  of  the  hundreds  of  miles  of  desert  across  which  it  had; 
traveled,  was  just  pulling  in  to  the  depot,  and  while  Mr. 
Hennage  realized  that  any  delay  in  his  programme  would 
be  a  distinct  strain  on  the  idlers  who  had  gathered  in  the 
porch  of  the  Silver  Dollar  and  adjacent  deadfalls  to  watch 
the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual  finally  make  good  on  his 
reputation,  still  he  was  not  one  of  the  presuming  kind, 


28o  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

and  he  declined  to  make  a  spectacle  of  himself  for  the 
edification  of  the  travelers  peering  curiously  from  the 
windows  of  the  train. 

So  he  waited  until  the  train  pulled  out  before  stepping 
briskly  into  the  middle  of  the  street,  gun  in  hand.  He 
crossed  diagonally  toward  the  eating-house,  watching  for 
O'Kourke. 

Suddenly  a  man  appeared  around  the  corner  of  the 
eating-house,  a  long-barreled  Colt's  in  his  hand.  Mr.  Hen- 
nage  raised  his  gun,  but  lowered  it  again  instantly,  for 
the  man  was  Sam  Singer.  The  Indian  ran  to  Mr.  Hen- 
nage's  side. 

"Vamose,  amigo  mio"  he  said  in  mingled  Spanish  and 
English,  "me  fixum  plenty  good." 

"Sam"  said  Mr.  Hennage,  "get  out.  You're  interferin'. 
This  is  the  white  man's  burden."  "With  a  sudden  sweep 
of  his  arm  he  tore  the  gun  from  the  Indian's  hand,  and 
.•waved  him  imperiously  away,  just  as  the  crowd  on  the 
porch  of  the  Silver  Dollar  parted  and  Borax  O'Rourke 
leaped  into  the  street. 

"Git — you  Injun"  yelled  Mr.  Hennage.  "If  he  beefs 
me  first  you  take  a  hack  at  him." 

Sam  Singer,  weaponless,  sprang  around  the  corner  of 
the  eating-house,  just  as  O'Rourke,  having  gained  the 
center  of  the  street,  turned,  drew  his  gun  down  on  Harley 
P.  and  fired.  A  suppressed  ' '  A-a-h-h ' '  went  up  from  the 
crowd  as  the  worst  man  in  San  Pasqual  sprawled  forward 
on  his  hands  and  knees. 

0  'Rourke  brought  his  gun  up,  swiftly,  dropped  it  again. 
Mr.  Hennage 's  left  arm  buckled  under  him  suddenly  and 
he  slid  forward  on  his  face,  while  two  more  bullets  from 
the  mule-skinner's  gun  threw  the  sand  in  his  eyes,  blinding 
him,  before  ricochetting  against  the  eating-house  wall. 

Sam  Singer,  peering  around  the  corner  of  the  eating- 
house,  saw  the  gambler  pick  himself  up  slowly.  There  was 
a  surprised  look  on  his  face.  He  was  staggering  in  eirclea 
and  as  yet  he  had  not  fired  a  shot. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  281 

"No  luck"  he  muttered  thickly,  "no  luck,"  and  reeled 
toward  the  eating-house.  A  fifth  bullet  scored  his  shoul 
der  and  crashed  through  the  wall;  the  sixth — and  last — • 
was  a  clean  miss,  and  in  the  middle  of  San  Pasqual  's  single 
street  Borax  O'Rourke  stood  wonderingly,  an  empty  smok 
ing  gun  in  his  hand,  staring  at  the  man  reeling  blindly 
along  the  eating-house  wall. 

Mr.  Hennage  paused  with  his  broad  back  against  the 
.wall.  "The  sand"  he  muttered,  blinking,  and  brushed  his 
eyes  with  the  back  of  his  good  right  hand,  as  Sam  Singer 
made  a  quick  scuttering  rush  around  the  corner  and  re 
trieved  the  loaded  gun  which  the  gambler  had  taken  from 
him  and  which  Harley  P.  had  dropped  when  O'Rourke 's 
second  bullet  had  shattered  his  left  arm. 

Mr.  Hennage  saw  the  Indian  stooping,  and  flapped  his 
broken  arm  in  feeble  protest.  Then  he  raised  his  gun. 

"Borax"  he  said  aloud,  "I've  got  a  full  house,"  and1 
pulled  away.  O'Rourke  pitched  forward,  and  Harley  P. 
advanced  uncertainly  toward  him,  firing  as  he  came,  and 
when  the  gun  was  empty  and  Borax  O'Rourke  as  dead! 
as  Cheops,  the  gambler  stood  over  his  man  and  hurled  the 
gun  at  the  still  twitching  body. 

"Well,  I've  canceled  that  entry"  he  said. 

He  stood  there,  swaying  a  little,  and  a  strong  arm  came 
around  his  fat  waist.  He  half  turned  and  gazed  into  the 
sun-scorched,  red-bearded  face  of  a  tall  young  man  clad 
in  a  ruin  of  weather-beaten  rags. 

It  was  Bob  McGraw.  He  had  come  back.  Sam  Singer, 
reaching  Mr.  Hennage 's  side  at  that  moment,  recognized 
the  stranger,  and  realizing  that  Mr.  Hennage  was  in  safe 
hands,  the  Indian  dropped  his  gun  (the  one  he  had  taken 
from  O'Rourke  at  the  Hat  Ranch)  and  fled  to  Donna  with 
the  news. 

Mr.  Hennage  fixed  his  fading  glance  upon  the  wanderer. 
He  wanted  to  say  something  severe,  but  for  the  life  of  him 
— even  the  little  he  had  left — he  could  not;  there  was  a 
puzzled  look  in  his  sand-clogged  eyes  as  he  whispered. 


282  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"Bob,  they've  got  the  goods — on  you.  There's  a  war. 
rant — out ;  you — know — that  stage  hold-up — at  Garlock — 

He  lurched  forward  into  Bob  McGrawr's  arms. 

"Oh,  Harley,  Harley,  old  man"  said  Bob  McGraw  in  a 
choking  voice. 

"Vamose"  panted  Mr.  Hennage.  "I'm  dyin',  son. 
You  can't  do  no  good  here." 

"My  friend,  my  friend"  whispered  the  wanderer,  "don't 
die  believing  I'm  an  outlaw.  I  didn't  do  it.  On  my  word 
of  honor,  I  didn  't. ' ' 

"I'm  dyin',  Bob.     Give  me  the  straight  of  it." 

"I  can't.  I  don't  know  what  you're  driving  at,  Harley. 
It's  a  mistake — " 

"Everything's  a  mistake — I'm  a  mistake"  muttered  the 
gambler.  "Son,  take  me — to  my — room — in  the  hotel. 
I'm  a  dog  with  a  bad — name,  but  I — don't  want  to — die 
in — the  street." 

Dan  Pennycook,  at  his  work  among  the  strings  of  empty 
box-cars  across  the  track,  had  heard  the  shooting ;  had  seen 
the  crowd  leave  the  porch  of  the  Silver  Dollar  saloon  and 
surge  out  into  the  street.  He  came  running  now,  and  upon, 
herring  the  details  of  the  duel  he  pressed  through  the 
circle  of  curious  men  who  had  gathered  to  see  Harley  P. 
Hennage  die.  He  found  Mr.  Hennage  seated  in  the  sand! 
with  his  head  and  shoulders  supported  by  a  stranger. 

Mr.  Hennage  smiled  his  rare,  trustful,  childish  smile  as 
the  yardmaster  approached. 

"Good  old  Dan!"  he  mumbled.  "He  can  only — think 
•of  one — thing  at  a — time — like  a  horse — but — by  God — he 
thinks — straight.  Hello,  Dan.  I'm  beefed.  Help  Bob — 
carry  me  in — Dan.  I'm  so — damned — heavy  an'  I  don't 
want — any  but  real  friends — to  touch  me — now." 

They  picked  him  up  and  carried  him  into  the  hotel,  up 
the  narrow  heat-warped  stairs  and  down  the  corridor  to 
his  room.  On  the  way  down  the  corridor,  Mr.  Hennage 
sniffed  curiously. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  283 

"They  got — new  mattin'  in  the  rooms"  he  gasped. 
"Business — must  be — lookin'  up." 

The  crowd  followed  into  the  room,  and  watched  Bob 
McGraw  and  Dan  Pennycook  lay  Mr.  Hennage  on  his  old 
bed.  Dan  Pennycook  hurried  for  Doc  Taylor,  while  Bob 
cleared  the  room  of  the  curious  and  locked  the  door.  Mr. 
Hennage  beckoned  him  to  his  bedside. 

"I  ain't  paid — for  this  bed  yet"  he  said,  "but  there's 
money — in  my  pants  pocket — an'  you  square  up — for  the 
damage — an'  the  annoyance — " 

The  tears  came  into  Bob  McGraw 's  eyes  as  he  knelt 
beside  the  bed  and  took  the  hand  of  the  w^orst  man  in  San 
Pasqual  in  his.  He  could  not  speak.  The  simplicity,  the 
honesty  of  this  dying  stray  dog  had  filled  his  heart  to 
overflowing;  for  he  was  young  and  he  could  weep  at  the 
passing  of  a  man. 

' '  Sho, ' '  said  Mr.  Hennage  softly,  ' '  sho,  Bob.  It  was  low 
down — o'  me  to  figure  you — a  crook,  but  the  evidence— 
man,  it  was  awful — but  you — when  did  you — marry  Don- 
nie?" 

"Last  October— in  Bakersfield." 

"I  know — wisht  you'd  invited  me — give  the  bride  away, 
Bob.  This  wouldn  't — have  happened.  Damn  dogs !  They 
— say — little  Donnie — belongs — east  o '  the  tracks.  I  killed 
— O'Rourke  for— thinkin'  it." 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  and  Bob  opened  it,  to  admit 
Dan  Pennycook. 

"Doc  Taylor's  in  Bakersfield"  he  said. 

Mr.  Hennage  grinned.  "I  knew  it — no  luck  to-day"  he 
said.  "Just  wipe  the — sand  out — o'  my  eyes,  Bob — an'  let 
'me  kick  the  bucket — without  disturbin'  nobody.  Dan'l, 
good-by.  As  the  feller  says — we  shall  meet — on  that  beau 
tiful — shore." 

Pennycook  wet  a  towel  in  the  wash-bowl  and  wiped  Mr. 
Hennage 's  eyes.  Then  he  wiped  his  own,  squeezed  his 
friend's  hand  and  departed.  He  had  taken  Mr.  Hennage 's 
gentle  hint  to  leave  him  alone  with  Bob  McGraw. 


284  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

For  nearly  half  an  hour  Bob  and  Mr.  Hennage  talked, 
and  when  the  gambler  had  learned  all  he  wished  to  know 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  was  silent  until  another  knock  came 
on  the  door.  Again  Bob  opened  it.  Donna  stood  on  the 
threshold. 

* '  Oh,  sweetheart ! ' '  she  cried,  and  her  arms  went  around 
his  neck,  while  Sam  Singer  softly  closed  the  door  and  stood 
guard  outside.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  Mr.  Hennage 
opened  his  eyes,  but  since  he  wras  not  one  of  the  presuming 
kind  he  quickly  closed  them  again  and  feigned  unconscious 
ness  until  he  felt  Donna's  soft  hand  resting  on  his  cold 
forehead. 

"You  oughtn't  to  a-come  here,  Donnie"  he  said,  making 
a  brave  show  to  speak  easily  despite  his  terrible  wounds. 
"Thexe  ain't — no  fun  in  this — visit — for  nobody — but 
me—" 

He  turned  wearily  to  hide  his  face  from  her,  and  looked 
thoughtfully  out  the  window,  across  the  level  reaches  of  the 
Mojave  desert,  to  where  the  sun  hung  low  over  the  Tehacha- 
pis.  In  the  fading  light  the  little  dust-devils  were  begin 
ning  to  caper  and  obscure  the  landscape,  much  as  the  dark 
shadows  were  already  trooping  athwart  the  horizon  of  Mr. 
Hennage 's  wasted  life.  The  night — the  eternal  night — 
was  coming  on  apace,  and  it  came  to  Mr.  Hennage  that  he, 
too,  would  depart  with  the  sunset,  and  he  had  no  regrets. 

"Don't  cry"  he  said. gently.  "I  ain't  worth  it.  'Just 
hold* — my  hand.  I  want  you — near — when  I  can't  see  you 
— no  more — an'  it's  gettin'  dark — already.  You're  so 
much — like  your  mother — an'  she — she  trusted  me.  I  was 
born  with — a  hard — face — an'  nobody  ever — trusted  me — 
but  you  an' — your  mother — an'  I — wanted  to  be  trusted — 
all  my  worthless  life — I  wanted  it — " 

He  sighed  and  held  out  his  hands  to  them.  Thereafter 
for  an  hour  he  did  not  speak.  He  was  thinking  of  many 
things  now,  and  the  time  was  short.  Presently  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  looked  out  the  window  again. 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  285 

"It's — dark"  he  whispered.  "The  sun  ain't  set,  has 
it?" 

"It's  just  setting"  Donna  answered  him.  He  nodded 
slightly,  and  a  flush  of  embarrassment  lit  up  his  pale  fea 
tures.  For  the  first  and  last  time  in  life,  Harley  P.  Hen- 
nage  was  going  to  appear  presumptuous. 

"If  it's — a  boy"  he  whispered,  "would  you — you 
wouldn't  mind — would  you — callin'  him — Harley?  Just 
• — his  middle  name,  Donnie — an'  he  could — sign  it — Robert 
H.— McGraw." 

Donna 's  hot  tears  fell  fast  on  his  face  as  she  leaned  over 
and  kissed  the  death-damp  from  his  brow. 

"Oh — thank  you"  he  gasped.  "Bob — take  off  my — 
shoes — I  don't — want — to — die — with — my  boots — on. 
New — gaiters — too — give  'em — to  Sam — Singer.  Good — • 
Injun — that. ' ' 

The  sun  had  set  behind  the  Tehachapis  now,  and  twilight 
was  stealing  over  San  Pasqual.  It  was  time  for  Mr.  Hen- 
nage  to  be  on  his  way.  He  clung  to  the  hands  of  his  friends 
convulsively,  and  whatever  thoughts  came  to  him  in  that 
supreme  moment  were  for  the  first  time  reflected  in  his 
face.  Indeed,  one  tiny  hint  of  the  desolation  in  his  big 
heart — the  agony  of  a  lifetime  of  misunderstanding  and 
repression,  trickled  across  his  hard  face;  then  something 
seemed  to  strike  him  very  funny,  for  the  infrequent,  trust 
ful,  childish  smile  flickered  across  his  face,  the  three  gold 
teeth  flashed  for  an  instant  ere  the  worst  man  in  San  Pas 
qual  slipped  off  into  the  shadows. 

And  whatever  the  joke  was,  he  took  it  with  him. 

In  his  unassuming  way  Harley  P.  Hennage  had  been 
sufficient  of  a  personage,  and  the  manner  of  his  death  suffi 
ciently  spectacular,  to  entitle  him  to  one  hundred  and  fifty 
words  of  posthumous  publicity.  Within  an  hour  after  the 
street  duel  the  local  representative  of  the  Associated  Press 
had  his  story  on  the  wire,  and  at  eight-thirty  next  morning 


286  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

T.  Morgan  Carey,  in  his  club  at  Los  Angeles,  read  the  glad 
tidings.  By  nine  o'clock  a  cipher  telegram  from  Carey 
was  being  clicked  off  to  his  tool  in  the  General  Land  Office 
at  Washington,  instructing  him  to  expedite  the  listing  of 
the  applications  of  Bob  McGraw's  clients  for  lieu  land  in 
Owens  Valley. 

To  T.  Morgan  Carey's  way  of  thinking  that  inconspicuous 
paragraph  in  the  morning  paper  meant  as  much  to  him 
as  the  receipt  of  a  certified  check  for  a  million  dollars. 
Under  his  instructions,  the  applications  of  McGraw  's  clients 
had,  with  the  judicious  aid  of  the  deputy  in  the  State 
Land  Office,  been  approved  by  the  surveyor-general  and 
forwarded  to  Washington  for  the  approval  of  the  Commis 
sioner  of  the  General  Land  Office.  Here,  Carey's  long 
arm,  reaching  out,  had  stayed  their  progress  until  now. 
Within  a  week  after  Mr.  Hennage's  death  the  lands  would 
be  passed  to  patent,  under  the  interested  attentions  of 
Carey's  man  in  the  General  Land  Office,  the  State  Land 
Office  would  notify  Bob  McGraw  at  his  address  furnished 
them  that  the  lands  were  ready  for  him,  and  to  call  and  pay 
the  balance  due.  It  would  then  be  incumbent  upon  Mc 
Graw  to  visit  the  State  Land  Office,  pay  the  balance  of 
thirty-nine  thousand  dollars  due  on  the  lands  and  close  the 
transaction. 

The  way  had  been  nicely  smoothed  for  Carey  by  the 
death  of  Mr.  Hennage,  who  had  warned  him  so  earnestly 
to  "keep  off  the  grass."  Of  course,  McGraw,  being  to 
Carey's  way  of  thinking  an  outlaw  from  justice,  would  not 
dare  to  appear  to  claim  the  lands,  and  if  he  did,  T.  Mor 
gan  Carey  planned  to  have  a  hale  and  hearty  gentleman 
in  a  blue  uniform  with  brass  buttons,  waiting  at  the  Land 
Office  to  receive  him  before  he  paid  for  the  lands.  With 
the  providential  removal  of  McGraw 's  queer  partner,  Carey 
saw  very  clearly  that,  after  waiting  a  reasonable  period 
after  due  notice  of  the  approval  of  the  applications  had 
been  mailed  to  McGraw,  the  filings  would  eventually  lapse, 
the  state  would  claim  the  forfeit  of  the  preliminary  pay* 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  287 

merit  of  one  thousand  dollars  and  the  lands  would  be  re 
opened  for  entry — whereupon  Carey  would  step  in  with 
his  own  dummy  entrymen.  He  could  then  proceed  with 
his  own  system  of  irrigation,  in  the  meanwhile  keeping  a 
.watchful  eye  on  McGraw's  water  right,  ready  to  grab  it 
when  the  title  should  lapse  through  McGraw's  failure  to 
develop  it. 

Harley  P.  Hennage  died  on  the  fifth  day  of  March.  On 
the  seventh  there  were  two  funerals  in  San  Pasqual.  The 
coroner  and  two  Mexican  laborers  tucked  Borax  O'Rourke 
away  in  the  potter's  field  in  the  morning.  In  the  after 
noon  every  business  establishment  in  San  Pasqual  closed, 
every  male  citizen  in  San  Pasqual  arrayed  himself  in  his 
"other"  clothes  and  attended  the  funeral  of  Harley  P. 
Hennage,  testifying,  by  his  presence  at  least,  his  masculine 
appreciation  of  a  dead-game  sport. 

That  was  a  historic  day  in  San  Pasqual.  Harley  P.  lay 
in  state  in  the  long  gambling  hall  of  the  Silver  Dollar  which, 
for  so  many  years,  he  had  ruled  by  the  mystic  power  of 
his  terrible  eyes.  Dan  Pennycook  had  made  all  of  the 
funeral  arrangements,  and  when  the  crowd  had  passed 
slowly  around  the  casket,  viewing  Harley  P.'s  placid  face 
for  the  last  time,  a  strange  young  man,  clad  in  the  garb 
of  a  prospector,  mounted  the  little  dais,  so  long  occupied 
by  the  lookout  for  Harley  P.'s  faro  game,  and  delivered  a 
funeral  oration.  It  was  not  a  panegyric  of  hope,  and  it 
dwelt  not  with  the  promise  of  a  haven  for  the  gambler's 
soul  in  one  of  his  Father's  many  mansions.  He  told  them 
merely  the  story  of  one  who  had  dwelt  amongst  them — the 
story  of  a  man  they  had  never  known — and  he  told  it  in 
such  simple,  eloquent  words  that  the  men  of  San  Pasqual 
wondered  what  dark  tragedy  underlay  his  own  life,  that  he 
must  needs  descend  to  mingle  with  such  as  they.  And  won 
dering,  they  wept. 

They  asked  each  other  who  this  red  stranger  might  be, 
but  none  could  answer.  But  when  Harley  P.  Hennage  was 
finally  consigned  to  the  desert  they  watched  the  stranger; 


288  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

and  saw  him  walk  down  the  tracks  to  the  Hat  Ranch.  Then 
they  understood,  and  the  word  was  passed  that  the  man 
was  Bob  McGraw,  the  father  of  Donna  Corblay's  unborn 
child. 

Strange  to  relate,  nobody  considered  it  worth  while  to 
telephone  the  sheriff  of  Kern  county.  Even  Miss  Pickett, 
who  since  the  shooting  had  been  strangely  subdued,  was 
not  attracted  by  the  recollection  of  the  offer  of  a  reward 
of  five  hundred  dollars  for  Bob  McGraw,  dead  or  alive; 
and  ten  days  after  the  funeral,  when  a  registered  letter 
came  to  Robert  McGraw,  she  sent  for  Dan  Pennycook,  gave 
him  the  letter  and  the  registry  receipt  and  asked  him  to 
take  it  down  to  the  Hat  Ranch. 

Pennycook  leaned  his  greasy  elbows  on  the  delivery  win 
dow  and  gazed  long  and  sternly  at  Miss  Pickett. 

' '  Miss  Pickett ' '  he  said  presently,  ' '  we  found  a  'nonony- 
mous  letter  on  Borax  O'Rourke  after  he  was  killed. 
There's  folks  in  San  Pasqual  that  says  the  letter's  in  you* 
handwritin '. ' ' 

11  Tain't  so!"  shrilled  the  spinster. 

"Well,  this  man  McGraw  says  it  is  so,  an'  he's  goin'  to 
get  an  expert  to  prove  it.  He  says  it's  a  felony  to  send  a 
'nonymous  letter  through  the  United  States  mails.  I'm 
just  a-tellin'  you  to  give  you  fair  warnin'." 

Miss  Pickett,  although  greatly  agitated,  pursed  her  mouth 
contemptuously  and  closed  the  delivery  window.  Mr.  Pen 
nycook  left  for  the  Hat  Ranch. 

"Donna,"  said  Bob  McGraw,  when  Dan  Pennycook  had 
departed,  after  delivering  the  letter  from  the  State  Land 
Office,  "the  applications  of  my  clients  are  approved  and 
ready  to  be  passed  to  patent.  I  have  been  called  upon  to 
pay  the  balance  of  thirty-nine  thousand  dollars  due  on  the 
land,  and  if  there  are  thirty-nine  cents  real  money  in  thia 
world,  I  do  not  possess  them.  Will  you  loan  me  a  hundred 
dollars,  dear,  from  that  thousand  Harley  P.  gave  you?  I 
must  go  to  San  Francisco  on  business." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  289 

He  smiled  his  old  bantering  smile.  "I'm  always  broke, 
sweetheart.  I'm  an  unfortunate  cuss,  am  I  not?  Those 
claims  of  mine  didn't  yield  wages  and  I  was  forced  to  sell 
my  outfit  at  Danby  to  get  railroad  fare  back  to  San  Pas« 
qual.  And  if  the  train  hadn't  been  ten  minutes  late — if  1 
hadn't  gone  into  the  eating-house  looking  for  you — I  would 
have  arrived  in  time  to  have  saved  poor  Hennage.  It  was 
my  fight,  after  all,  and  poor  Harley  wasn't  used  to  fire 
arms.  ' ' 

They  were  sitting  together  in  the  patio.  Donna  leaned 
her  head  on  his  broad  shoulder.  She  had  suffered  much  of 
late.  She  had  fought  the  good  fight  for  his  sake,  for  the 
sake  of  his  great  dream  of  Donnaville,  and  she  had  fought 
alone.  She  was  weary  of  it  all  and  she  longed  to  leave 
San  Pasqual  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"Are  you  going  to  ask  Mr.  Dunstan  for  the  thirty-nine 
thousand  dollars  he  promised  to  loan  you,  when  the  lands 
were  ready  for  you  ? ' '  she  asked  dully. 

"  No  "  he  answered.  ' '  It 's  no  use.  I  need  more  money, 
and  Dunstan 's  check  wouldn't  even  get  me  started.  If  I'm 
whipped,  there  is  no  sense  in  dragging  my  friends  down 
with  me.  I'm  going  to  Los  Angeles  and  compromise  with 
Carey." 

She  drew  his  rough  cheek  down  to  hers  and  patted  his 
brown  hands.  She  knew  then  the  bitterness  of  his  defeat, 
and  she  made  no  comment.  She  was  tired  of  the  fight.  A 
compromise  with  Carey  or  a  sale  of  the  water  right  was 
their  only  hope,  and  when  Bob  spoke  of  compromise  she 
was  too  listless  to  dissuade  him.  Since  that  eventful  night 
when  he  had  first  ridden  into  San  Pasqual  she  had  been 
more  or  less  of  a  stormy  petrel ;  woe  and  death  and  suffer 
ing  had  followed  his  coming,  and  if  Donnaville  was  to  be 
purchased  at  such  a  price,  the  land  was  dear,  indeed. 

She  gave  him  gladly  of  her  slender  hoard  and  that  night 
Bob  McGraw  went  up  to  San  Francisco.  Two  days  later 
he  returned,  stopping  off  at  Bakersfield,  and  the  following 
morning  he  returned  to  San  Pasqual. 


290  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

He  went  at  once  to  the  post-office,  and  after  receiving 
permission  from  Miss  Pickett,  screwed  into  the  wall  of  the 
post-office  lobby  what  ap  eared  to  Miss  Pickett  to  be  two 
pictures,  framed.  When  he  had  left,  she  came  out  of  her 
sanctum  and  discovered  that  one  of  the  frames  contained 
a  certified  copy  of  a  marriage  license  issued  to  Kobert  Mc- 

Graw  and  Donna  Corblay  on  October  17th, ,  together 

with  a  neat  typewritten  statement  of  the  reasons  why  inter 
ested  parties  had  not  been  able  to  discover  the  record  of  the 
issuance  of  the  license  at  the  county  seat.  It  appeared  that 
the  minister  who  had  performed  the  ceremony,  after  for 
warding  the  license  to  the  State  Board  of  Health  for  regis 
tration,  had  neglected  to  return  it  thereafter  to  the  two 
most  interested  parties,  which,  coupled  with  Mrs.  McGraw 'a 
ignorance  of  the  procedure  to  be  followed  under  the  circum 
stances,  had  resulted  in  more  or  less  embarrassment. 

The  other  frame  contained  a  typewritten  invitation  to 
the  public  to  earn  five  hundred  dollars  by  convicting  the 
undersigned  of  stage  robbery.  The  "undersigned'""  was 
Robert  McGraw,  who  would  remain  in  San  Pasqual  all  day 
long  and  would  be  delighted  to  answer  questions. 

From  the  post-office  Bob  went  to  the  public  telephone 
station  and  called  up  T.  Morgan  Carey  in  Los  Angeles. 
He  requested  an  interview  at  ten  o'clock  the  following 
morning  for  the  purpose  of  adjusting  a  compromise  with 
him. 

Needless  to  state,  Mr.  T.  Morgan  Carey  granted  the  re 
quest  with  cheerful  alacrity. 

"I'm  coming  to  do  business"  Bob  warned  him.  "No 
third  parties  around — understand?" 

' '  Certainly,  certainly ' '  responded  Carey.  ' '  And  in  order 
to  save  time,  Mr.  McGraw,  I  '11  have  the  assignment  of  your 
water  right  made  out,  ready  for  your  signature.  I'll  have 
a  notary  within  hailing  distance." 

Bob  could  hear  him  chuckling  as  he  hung  up,  for  to 
Carey  the  thought  of  his  revenge  on  the  man  who  had 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  291 

cuffed  him  in  the  State  Land  Office  was  very  sweet,  indeed. 
His  amiable  smile  had  not  yet  worn  off  when  his  office  boy 
ushered  Bob  McGraw  into  his  private  office  at  ten  o'clock 
next  morning.  He  waved  Bob  to  a  chair  and  looked  him 
over  curiously. 

"Been  too  busy  lately  to  dress  up,  eh?"  he  queried,  as 
he  noted  Bob's  corduroy  trousers  tucked  into  his  miner's 
boots. 

" Pretty  busy"  assented  Bob,  and  smiled. 

"Rather  spectacular  removal — that  of  our  friend  Hen- 
nage"  Carey  continued.  "From  what  I  learn  he  was  a 
little  slow  on  the  draw." 

"O'Rourke  beat  him  to  it." 

"If  I  may  judge  by  the  single  exhibition  of  your  pro 
ficiency  with  a  gun  which  I  was  privileged  to  observe,  Mr. 
McGraw,  the  issue  would  have  been  different  had  you  been 
in  Hennage's  boots." 

"Possibly.  But  I  didn't  come  here  to  gossip  with  you, 
Carey.  I  don't  like  you  well  enough  for  that.  I  want  to 
finish  my  business  and  get  back  to  San  Pasqual  to-night." 

"Certainly,  certainly.  But  you're  such  an  extraordinary 
young  man,  McGraw,  that  in  spite  of  our  former  differences 
I  must  own  to  a  desire  to  know  more  about  you.  I  could 
use  a  man  with  your  brains  and  ability,  McGraw.  You're 
the  kind  of  a  fellow  I've  been  looking  for — for  a  great 
many  years,  in  fact.  If  you  think  you  could  manage  to 
divorce  yourself  from  your  ambitions  to  supersede  me  in 
the  State  Land  Office,  I  could  afford  to  pay  you  a  fat  salary 
to  attend  to  my  land  matters.  I  would  have  to  be  the  boss, 
however.  It  has  been  a  rule  of  my  life,  McGraw,  to  gather 
about  me  men  with  more  brains  than  I  possess  myself. 
That  is  the  secret  of  my — er — rather  modest  success." 

Bob  smiled.  "No  use"  he  answered.  "I  couldn't  wear 
your  collar,  Carey.  I  've  been  a  white  man  all  my  life  and 
I'm  too  old  to  change." 

*'It's  a  pity"  Carey  replied  with  genuine  sincerity.    "I 


292  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

can  see  remarkable  possibilities  in  you,  McGraw.  I  can, 
indeed.  It's  a  shame  to  see  you  waste  your  opportunities." 

"Play  ball"  commanded  Bob  sharply. 

"Very  well,  since  you  desire  it.  In  the  matter  of  those 
applications  for  fifty  sections  of  Owens  Valley:  you  have 
received  a  notification  from  the  Registrar  of  the  State  Land 
Office,  advising  you  to  call  and  pay  thirty-nine  thousand 
dollars.  You  cannot  pay  it;  neither  can  your  clients. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ? " 

Bob  shrugged.     " Quien  sabe?"  he  said. 

' '  Well,  Mr.  McGraw,  I  '11  tell  you.  Your  applications  are 
going  to  lapse  through  non-payment,  and  I'm  going  to  get 
the  land.  So  enough  of  that.  You  own  a  valuable  water 
right.  I'm  going  to  get  that  also.  Do  you  wish  me  to 
explain  why  ? ' ' 

"No,  it  is  not  necessary.  I  think  I  follow  your  line  of 
reasoning. ' ' 

"I  am  not  disappointed  in  my  estimate  of  your  common 
sense"  Carey  retorted,  and  favored  his  visitor  with  a  cold, 
quizzical  smile.  "Here  is  the  assignment  of  that  water 
right  to  me.  In  return  I  will  give  you — let  me  see.  I  will 
give  you  just  fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  that  water  right, 
McGraw,  and  I  am  surprised  at  myself  for  exhibiting  such 
generosity.  And  inasmuch  as  you  collected  that  sum  in 
advance  last  autumn  at  Garlock,  your  signature  to  the  as 
signment,  before  a  notary  who  is  waiting  in  the  next  room, 
is  all  that  we  require  to  terminate  this  interview." 

"But  I  told  you  I  came  here  to  compromise." 

' e  I  understand  fully.  Those  are  my  terms.  Your  water 
right  on  Cottonwood  lake  in  return  for  your  freedom. 
Stage-robbers  cannot  be  choosers,  Mr.  McGraw.  I  recog 
nized  you  that  day  at  Garlock  and  I  am  prepared  to  so 
testify." 

The  land-grabber  rose  from  his  swivel  chair.  His  pol 
ished  suave  manner  had  disappeared  now  and  his  cold  eyes 
flashed  with  anger  and  hatred. 

"I  haven't  forgotten  that  day  in  the  State  Land  Office, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  293 

McGraw.  A  slight  pressure  on  this  button" — he  placed  his 
manicured  finger  on  an  ivory  push  button — "and  two  plain- 
clothes  men  in  my  outer  office  will  attend  to  your  case, 
McGraw." 

' '  So  those  are  your  final  terms,  Carey  ? ' ' 

"  Absolutely." 

Bob  crossed  his  right  leg  over  his  left  knee,  pulled  out  a 
five-cent  cigar  and  thoughtfully  bit  off  the  end. 

"Press  the  button,  old  man"  he  murmured  presently 
"Confound  this  cigar,  I've  busted  the  blamed  wrapper. 
Got  another  cigar  handy,  Carey?  Thanks.  By  George, 
that's  a  two-bitter,  isn't  it?  Well,  it's  none  too  good  for 
the  last  of  the  McGraw  family.  I'll  be  in  the  two-bit  class 
myself  in  half  an  hour.  But  proceed,  Carey.  Press  the 
button  and  call  in  your  plain-clothes  men." 

He  pulled  back  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and  the  land-grabber 
saw  the  butt  of  a  gun  nestling  under  his  left  arm.  From 
"his  inner  coat  pocket  Bob  drew  a  cylindrical  roll  of  paper 
about  eight  inches  long. 

Carey  eyed  him  scornfully.  "This  Is  the  city  of  Lt>i$ 
Angeles,  my  friend,  not  the  open  desert  at  Garlock.  A  gun 
play  would  be  most  ill-advised,  I  assure  you." 

"Oh,  that's  just  part  of  my  wardrobe"  Bob  retorted. 
"I  wouldn't  think  of  using  that  on  a  man  unless  he  was 
real  dangerous — and  men  like  you  are  beneath  my  notice. 
Come  now,  Carey.  "Which  is  it  to  be?  Compromise  or 
the  penitentiary?" 

"Certainly  not  compromise — on  any  terms  but  mine." 

"Well,  press  the  button  and  call  them  in — Boston!" 

Carey  whirled  in  his  chair,  jerked  over  a  drawer  in  his 
desk  and  reached  his  hand  inside.  Before  he  could  with 
draw  it  Bob  McGraw 's  big  automatic  was  covering  him. 

' '  Take  your  hand  out  of  that  drawer — Boston.  Out,  you 
dog,  or  I'll  drill  you!" 

Carey 's  hand  came  out  of  the  drawer  slowly,  very  slowly, 
grasping  a  small  pearl-handled  revolver. 

* '  This  is  the  city  of  Los  Angeles,  my  friend,  and  not  the 


294  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

open  desert.  A  gun-play  would  be  most  ill-advised,  I  as 
sure  you"  Bob  mocked  the  land-grabber.  "You'd  better 
let  me  have  that  pop-gun. ' ' 

He  gently  removed  the  little  weapon  from  Carey's  trem 
bling  hand. 

"Now,  go  over  in  that  corner  and  sit  down — no,  not  on 
the  floor.  Take  a  chair  with  you.  I  '11  occupy  the  arsenal. 
You  might  have  all  kinds  of  push  buttons,  burglar  alarms 
and  deadly  weapons  around  this  desk." 

He  ran  his  hands  lightly  over  Carey's  person  in  search 
of  weapons,  shoved  him  into  the  corner  indicated,  then 
turned  and  snapped  the  spring  lock  on  the  door  leading 
out  to  the  general  office;  after  which  he  laid  his  gun  on 
Carey's  desk,  sat  down  in  Carey's  swivel  chair,  tilted  him 
self  back  and  lifted  his  hob-nailed  miner's  boots  to  the 
top  of  Carey's  rosewood  table  close  by.  And  as  he  gazed, 
almost  sorrowfully,  at  the  land-grabber,  he  puffed  enjoy- 
ably  at  Carey's  cigar.  Evidently  he  foresaw  a  lengthy 
argument  and  meant  to  make  himself  comfortable  before 
proceeding. 

"Well,  now,  Boston,  since  we  have  definitely  located  you 
as  the  murderer  of  Oliver  Corblay  in  the  Colorado  desert 
on  the  night  of  May  17th,  188-,  I'll  give  you  five  minutes 
to  get  your  nerve  back  and  then  we  '11  get  down  to  business. 
You  will  recall  that  I  came  here  to  compromise. ' ' 

He  reached  over  and  placed  a  brown  calloused  finger  on 
the  push  button,  and  waited. 

"Well"  he  said  presently,  "what's  the  answer?" 

"Compromise"  Carey  managed  to  articulate.  Bob  re 
moved  his  finger. 

"The  court  will  now  listen  to  any  new  testimony  that 
may  be  adduced  in  the  case  of  The  People  versus  Carey. 
Fire  away,  Boston." 

"What  are  you?"  panted  Carey.    "A  man  or  a  devil?'* 

"Just  a  plain  human  being,  so  flat  busted,  Boston,  that 
I  rattle  when  I  walk.  What  would  you  suggest  to  cure  me 
of  that  horrible  ailment?" 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  295 

"Silence — on  both  sides — and  a  hundred  thousand  for 
your  water  right." 

"Well,  from  your  point  of  view,  that  offer  is  truly  gen 
erous.  It  is  now  my  turn  to  be  surprised  at  your  gener 
osity.  But  you're  shy  on  imagination,  Boston — and  I'm 
a  greedy  rascal.  You'll  have  to  raise  the  ante." 

"Two  hundred  thousand." 

"Still  too  low.  The  power  rights  alone  are  worth  a  mil 
lion." 

"A  million,  then — you  to  leave  the  United  States  and 
not  return  during  my  lifetime." 

Bob  laughed.  "You  don't  understand,  Boston.  Why 
should  I  sell  you  my  water  right?  You  must  have  water 
on  the  brain." 

' '  Then,  why  have  you  called  to  see  me  ?  Is  it  blackmail  ? 
Why,  this  interview  is  degenerating  into  a  case  of  the  pot 
calling  the  kettle  black!  I'm  a  fool,  McGraw.  I  shall 
offer  you  nothing  at  all.  You  can  be  convicted  of  stage 
robbery  and  you  haven't  a  dollar  in  the  world  to  make  your 
defense — while  I — it  takes  evidence  to  convict  a  man  like 
me." 

"Yes,  I  know  your  kind.  You  think  you're  above  the 
law.  I  notice,  however,  that  you  fear  it  a  little.  I  sprung 
a  good  one  on  you  that  time,  didn't  I,  Boston?  Imagine 
the  self-possessed  T.  Morgan  Carey  practically  confessing 
to  a  murder  on  a  mere  accusation." 

He  wagged  his  head  at  Carey  sorrowfully,  and  continued. 
"You  said  a  minute  ago,  Carey,  that  I  had  brains.  You 
did  not  underestimate  me.  I  have.  I  would  not  have 
come  to  you  this  morning  if  I  did  not  have  the  goods  on 
you.  Not  much.  I  don't  hold  you  that  cheap,  Boston — " 

"Don't  call  me  that  name"  snarled  Carey. 

"All  right,  Boston,  I  won't,  since  you  object.  Sit  quiet, 
now,  and  111  tell  you  a  very  wonderful  story — profusely 
illustrated,  as  the  book  agents  say.  It 's  rather  a  long  story, 
so  please  do  not  interrupt  me." 

He  unrolled  the  paper  which  he  had  taken  from  his 


296  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

pocket  and  held  it  up  before  his  cringing  victim.  It  was 
an  enlargement  from  a  kodak  picture  of  a  desert  scene. 
In  the  foreground  lay  two  human  skeletons.  Bob  picked 
a  pencil  off  Carey's  desk  and  lightly  indicated  one  of  these 
skeletons. 

"That  bundle  of  bones  was  once  Oliver  Corblay.  Notice 
those  footprints  over  to  the  right?  See  how  plainly  they 
loom  up  in  the  picture?  And  over  there — see  that  little 
message,  Bos — I  mean,  Mr.  Carey.  It  says: 

'Friend,  look  in  my  canteen  and  see  that  I  get  justice.' 

"Behold  the  friend  who  looked  in  the  canteen,  and  who 
is  now  here  for  justice  for  that  skeleton.  He's  waited 
twenty  years  for  it,  Carey,  but  he's  going  to  get  it  to-day. 
Don 't  squirm  so.  You  distract  my  mind  from  my  story. 

"Two  months  ago  I  was  heading  up  from  the  Colorado 
river  toward  Chuckwalla  Tanks.  Passing  the  mouth  of  a 
box  canyon  I  observed  the  footprints  of  a  man  in  some 
old  rotten  lava  formation.  I  could  tell  that  the  man  who 
made  those  footprints  was  dying  of  thirst  when  he  made 
them.  He  was  traveling  in  circles,  every  twenty  yards, 
and  they  always  do  that  toward  the  finish. 

"Well,  I  hustled  up  that  box  canyon  with  my  canteen, 
hoping  I'd  arrive  in  time.  Judge  of  my  surprise  when  I 
found  this  heap  of  bones.  I  investigated  and  discovered 
that  owing  to  the  peculiar  formation  in  the  box  canyon 
the  footprints  were  practically  imperishable.  A  detailed 
explanation  of  the  reason  why  they  loom  up  so  white  would 
be  interesting,  but  technical — so  let  it  pass.  Suffice  the 
fact  that  Oliver  Corblay  made  the  same  discovery  when  he 
drifted  into  that  box  canyon  twenty  years  ago,  and  it  gave 
him  an  idea.  He  had  a  message  to  leave  to  posterity  and 
he  left  it  in  his  empty  canteen.  However,  unless  attention 
could  be  called  to  the  canteen,  the  man  who  found  the  skele 
ton  would  merely  bury  it  and  never  think  of  looking  in 
the  canteen.  So  Oliver  Corblay  wrote  that  message  in  tha 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  297 

lava ;  really  the  most  ingenious  piece  of  inlaid  work  I  have 
ever  seen. 

' '  I  was  the  first  man  to  travel  that  way  in  twenty  years. 
I  read  the  message  in  the  lava  and  I  looked  in  the  canteen. 
Here  is  a  copy  of  the  story  I  found  there.  The  original 
is  in  a  safe  deposit  box  in  San  Francisco.  It  is  a  diary  of 
a  trip  which  you  made  with  Oliver  Corblay  and  his  mozo 
when  you  first  came  out  to  this  country  from — well,  never 
mind  the  name.  It  seems  to  annoy  you.  This  diary  tells 
all  about  the  discovery  of  the  Baby  Mine,  your  attack  upon 
him  with  a  stone  and  your  flight  with  the  gold — in  fact,  a 
condensed  history  of  that  trip  right  down  to  the  very  day 
he  died  in  that  box  canyon. 

"I  was  so  tremendously  interested  in  that  remarkable 
story,  Carey,  that  as  soon  as  I  had  refilled  my  water  kegs 
at  Chuckwalla  Tanks,  I  headed  south  again  for  Ehrenburg. 
Here,  after  much  inquiry,  I  learned  from  two  of  the  oldest 
inhabitants  that  a  tenderfoot  with  a  train  of  four  burros 
had  arrived  there  twenty  years  ago.  They  remembered  you 
quite  well,  because  you  were  so  new  to  the  country  and  so 
frightened  after  your  experience  in  the  desert.  You  told 
a  tale  of  a  sandstorm  and  of  having  been  separated  from 
two  Indians  you  had  employed.  It  seems  you  lay  over 
in  Ehrenburg  for  a  week  and  put  in  your  time  working  up 
a  lot  of  rich  ore.  You  gave  a  deputy  United  States  marshal 
five  hundred  dollars  to  act  as  your  bodyguard  that  week, 
and  when  your  bullion  was  ready  you  shipped  it  by  express 
to  the  mint  in  San  Francisco.  In  the  express  office  at 
Ehrenburg  I  found  a  record  of  that  shipment.  You  shipped 
it  under  the  name  *T.  C.  Morgan,'  a  reversal  of  your  real 
name. 

"From  Ehrenburg  I  made  my  way  back  up  through 
Riverside  county  and  across  San  Bernardino  county,  to  the 
box  canyon.  I  had  purchased  a  little  camera  in  Ehrenburg, 
and  I  fizzled  a  lot  of  my  films  owing  to  the  strong  light  and 
the  fact  that  I  had  to  stand  on  one  of  my  jacks  when  I  took 
the  picture,  and  the  little  rascal  wouldn't  stand  still.  How- 


298  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

ever,  I  managed  to  get  one  good  picture  out  of  the  lot,  an<J 
as  you  will  observe,  it  all  shows  up  very  well  in  the  en 
largement. 

' '  I  left  everything  in  that  box  canyon  just  as  I  found  it. 
It  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  fight  and  ask  to  be  shown ; 
so  might  a  coroner's  jury.  They  could  get  out  there  in 
three  days  with  an  automobile  now.  Leaving  the  box  can 
yon  I  pushed  north  to  Danby,  where  I  sold  my  outfit  and' 
bought  a  ticket  for  San  Pasqual,  where  I  arrived  just  in 
time  to  see  my  friend,  Harley  P.  Hennage,  lay  down  his 
life  in  defense  of  Oliver  Corblay's  daughter,  who,  by  the 
way,  happens  to  be  my  wife. 

"If  you  are  not  too  frightened,  Carey,  you  will  readily 
diagnose  my  extreme  interest  in  this  case.  Oliver  Corblay 
left  a  will,  which  I  shall  not  bother  to  file  for  probate,  for 
the  reason  that  his  entire  estate  consisted  of  the  gold  that 
you  stole  from  him,  and  it  is  my  intention  to  secure  his 
estate  for  his  heir  without  recourse  to  law.  Oliver  Cor 
blay's  wife  is  dead,  and  his  daughter,  Donna,  is  my  wife 
and  next  in  succession. 

"By  consulting  the  old  records  of  the  United  States  Mint 
at  San  Francisco,  I  discover  that  on  June  2, 18 — ,  a  cashier's 
check  was  issued  to  a  man  named  T.  C.  Morgan,  in  the  sum. 
of  $157,432.55,  in  payment  of  bullion  received.  This  check 
was  endorsed  by  T.  C.  Morgan  to  Thomas  M.  Carey,  and 
deposited  by  Thomas  M.  Carey  in  the  Traders  National 
Bank. 

"Now,  Carey,  $157,432.55,  at  seven  per  cent  per  annum, 
compounded  annually  for  twenty  annums,  aggregates  a 
heap  of  money.  I  wore  myself  out  trying  to  figure  the 
exact  sum,  and  finally  concluded  to  call  it  square  at  half  a 
million.  That  original  sum  that  you  stole  from  Oliver  Cor 
blay  gave  you  your  start  in  the  west,  and  as  you  are  re 
puted  to  be  worth  five  or  six  millions  now,  I  am  going  to 
assess  you  half  a  million  dollars  for  my  wife — money  which 
justly  belongs  to  her — and  another  half  million  for  my 
services  as  your  attorney,  wherein  I  agree  to  prevail  upoa 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  299 

my  wife  not  to  prosecute  you  for  murder  and  highway  rob 
bery,  but  to  permit  you  to  live  on  and  await  the  retributive 
justice  that  is  bound  to  overtake  you.  I  think  this  is  per 
fectly  fair  and  square.  You  have  used  your  money  and 
your  power  for  evil.  I  am  going  to  use  mine  for  good. 
Have  the  kindness,  my  dear  T.  Morgan  Carey,  to  dig  me 
up  a  million  dollars,  P.  D.  Q«'7 


CHAPTER  XX 

CAREY  sat  huddled  dejectedly  in  his  chair.     Old  ago 
seemed   to  have   descended  upon   him  within   the 
hour;  with  sagging  shoulders,  mouth  half  open  in 
terror,  and  the  wrinkled  skin  around  his  thin  jaws  and  the 
corners  of  his  eyes  hanging  in  greenish-white  folds,  he 
looked  very  tired  and  very  pitiful.     Despite  his  terror, 
however,  he  was  not  yet  daunted;  for  with  the  picture  of 
two  skeletons  before  him  he  saw  a  gleam  of  hope  and  tried 
to  fight  back. 

"Twenty  years  is  a  long  time,  McGraw"  he  quavered, 
"and  it's  hard  to  trace  a  man  by  a  mere  similarity  of 
names. ' ' 

"You  can  be  traced  through  the  Traders  National,  where 
you  banked  that  check,  and  your  identity  established  be 
yond  a  doubt.  I  can  trace  your  career  in  this  state,  step  by 
step,  from  the  day  you  arrived  in  it." 

Carey  smiled — a  very  weak  sickly  smile,  but  bespeaking 
awakened  confidence. 

"In  the  face  of  which,  McGraw,  your  knowledge  of  our 
United  States'  law  will  convince  you  that  you  cannot  con< 
vict  a  man  with  money  enough  to  fight  indefinitely,  on  sucb 
flimsy  twenty-year-old  evidence  found  in  an  abandoned  can 
teen.  You  cannot  identify  that  skeleton,  and  you  will  have 
to  prove  that — that — well,  you'll  have  to  produce  oral  testi 
mony,  or  I  '11  be  given  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. ' ' 

' '  I  must  prove  that  the  man  who  killed  and  robbed  Oliver 
Corblay  is  T.  Morgan  Carey,  and  not  a  stranger  masquerad 
ing  under  your  name,  eh?  All  right,  T.  Morgan.  I  told 
you  I  had  this  story  profusely  illustrated." 

300 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  301 

Bob  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  private  office  which  led 
into  the  hall.  He  opened  it  and  Sam  Singer  stepped  inside. 
Bob  turned  to  Carey. 

"Permit  me  to  present  Oliver  Corblay's  Indian  servant, 
Mr.  Carey.  He  is  a  little  older  and  more  stolid  since  you 
saw  him  last,  but  his  memory — " 

Sam  Singer  moved  forward  a  few  feet  and  glanced 
sharply  at  Carey. 

"I  think  he  recognizes  you  in  spite  of  your  beard"  said 
Bob  sorrowfully,  "and  I  see  no  reason — " 

"Take  him  away"  panted  Carey,  on  the  instant  that  Sam 
Singer,  with  a  peculiar  low  guttural  cry,  sprang  upon  the 
land-grabber.  Bob  came  behind  the  Indian,  grasped  him 
by  the  chin,  and  with  his  knee  in  the  small  of  the  Cahuilla's 
back  as  a  fulcrum,  gently  pried  him  away  from  his  victim 
and  held  him  fast.  Carey  lay  quivering  on  the  floor,  and 
Bob  looked  down  at  him. 

"Are  you  satisfied?"  he  asked. 

Carey  nodded  feebly,  and  Bob  marched  Sam  Singer  to 
the  door,  opened  it  and  gently  propelled  him  out  into  the 
hall.  He  locked  the  door  and  returned  to  the  desk. 

' '  I  knew  the  sight  of  two  skeletons  would  hearten  you  up, 
Carey,  until  you'd  be  as  saucy  as  a  badger.  But  you're  as 
tame  as  a  pet  fox  now,  so  let's  get  down  to  business.  Don't 
argue  with  me.  I've  got  you  where  the  hair  is  short;  I 
want  a  million  dollars,  and  if  I  do  not  get  it  within  half  an 
hour  I  won 't  take  it  at  all  and  I  will  no  longer  protect  you 
from  that  Indian." 

Carey  climbed  back  into  his  chair.  "If  I  accept  your 
terms"  he  said  huskily,  "how  am  I  to  know  that  you  will 
keep  your  word  1 ' ' 

"You  will  not  know  it.  You'll  just  have  to  guess. 
When  you  do  what  I  want  you  to  do  I  will  surrender  to 
you  the  original  document  found  in  the  canteen.  Is  that 
satisfactory  ? ' ' 

"I  guess  so.  But  I  cannot  give  you  a  million  dollars 
on  five  minutes'  notice,  McGraw." 


302  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

"It's  quite  a  chunk  of  cash  to  have  on  hand,  I'll  admit 
How  much  can  you  give  me?" 

"Five  hundred  thousand,  and  even  then  I'll  have  to 
overdraw  my  accounts  with  three  banks." 

"I  wish  my  credit  was  as  good  as  yours,  Carey.  Your 
banks  will  stand  for  the  overdraft,  of  course.  You'll  have 
to  arrange  it  some  other  way  if  they  will  not." 

"I  can't  give  you  a  cent  over  half  a  million  to-day,  no 
matter  what  you  do"  pleaded  Carey  piteously,  and  Bob 
realized  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth. 

"Do  not  worry,  Carey,"  he  replied,  "we're  going  to 
do  business  without  getting  nasty  with  each  other.  I'll 
take  your  promissory  note,  at  seven  per  cent,  and  you  can 
secure  me  with  a  little  mortgage  on  your  Spring-street, 
business  block.  It's  worth  a  million  and  a  half.  I  am 
not  so  unreasonable  as  to  imagine  even  a  rich  man  like  you 
can  produce  a  million  dollars  cash  on  such  notice,  so  dur 
ing  the  past  week  I  took  the  liberty  of  having  the  title 
searched  and  an  instrument  of  first  mortgage  drawn  up 
by  myself.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  insert  the  figures  and 
then  you  can  sign  it.  I  understand  you  have  a  notary 
within  hailing  distance.  Your  own  thoughtfulness  in  hav 
ing  this  transfer  of  my  water  right  ready  for  my  signa 
ture  suggested  this  course  to  me.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
I  could  sell  this  mortgage  to  any  Los  Angeles  bank." 

Carey  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  quivered. 

"What  bank  do  you  anticipate  selling  it  to?"  he  mum 
bled  presently. 

"I  didn't  have  any  particular  choice.  If  you  have 
enemies  I  will  not  sell  you  into  their  hands,  and  you  can 
make  the  mortgage  for  as  long  a  period  as  you  please,  up 
to  three  years.  Give  me  a  list  of  banks  to  keep  away  from- 
I  don 't  want  to  hurt  you  unnecessarily,  I  assure  you. ' ' 

"Thank  you,  McGraw"  quavered  his  victim.  "If  you'll 
let  me  sit  at  my  desk  I'll  draw  those  checks." 

"Certainly.  Only  I  want  the  checks  certified,  Carey. 
You  understand,  of  course,  that  I  shall  not  surrender  the 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  303 

evidence  I  have  against  you  until  those  checks  are  paid. 
I  will  not  risk  your  telephoning  the  banks,  the  moment  I 
leave  your  office,  telling  them  the  checks  were  secured  by; 
force  and  threats  of  bodily  harm,  and  for  them  to  decline 
payment. ' ' 

Carey  wrote  the  checks,  called  in  a  clerk  and  instructed 
him  to  take  them  to  the  various  banks  and  arrange  for  the 
overdraft  and  certification — a  comparatively  easy  task, 
since  Carey  was  a  heavy  stockholder  in  all  three  banks. 
Within  half  an  hour,  while  Bob  and  Carey  sat  glaring  at 
each  other,  the  checks  were  returned,  and  Carey  handed! 
them  to  Bob,  who  examined  them  and  found  them  correct. 
The  mortgage  was  next  filled  out,  the  notary  called  in 
and  Carey  signed  and  swore  to  his  signature. 

"Now,  in  order  to  be  perfectly  legal  about  this  matter, 
Carey,"  began  Bob,  when  the  notary  had  departed,  "we 
should  show  some  consideration  for  all  this  money.  I 
have  here  the  papers  showing  I  have  filed  on  twenty  acres 
of  a  mining  claim.  It's  just  twenty  acres  of  the  Mojave 
desert,  near  San  Pasqual,  and  I  do  not  know  that  it  con 
tains  a  speck  of  valuable  mineral,  but  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  I  staked  it  as  a  mining  claim  and  christened 
it  the  Baby  Mine." 

Here  a  slight  smile  flickered  across  the  young  Desert 
Rat's  face,  as  if  some  very  pleasant  thought  had  preceded 
it.  He  continued: 

"I  have  had  my  signature  to  this  deed  to  the  Baby 
Mine  attested  before  a  notary  a  few  minutes  prior  to  my 
arrival  in  your  office."  He  handed  the  document  to  T. 
^Morgan  Carey.  "Here's  your  mine,  Carey.  I've  sold  it 
to  you  for  a  million  dollars,  and  unless  you  spend  one 
hundred  dollars  a  year  in  assessment  work,  the  title  to 
this  million-dollar  property  will  lapse.  I  wish  you  luck 
with  your  bargain.  I  shall  expect  you  to  record  this  deed! 
within  three  days,  and  that  will  block  any  come-back  you 
may  start  figuring  on.  If  you  fail  to  record  this  deed 
I  shall  construe  your  act  as  a  breach  of  faith,  return  to 


304  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

you  all  but  the  five  hundred  thousand  dollars  which  be 
longs  to  my  wife,  and  then  proceed  to  make  things  dis 
agreeable  for  you.  Remember,  Carey,  I'm  your  attorney 
and  you  should  be  guided  by  my  advice." 

Carey's  face  was  livid  with  rage  and  hatred.  "And  in 
addition,  I  suppose  I'm  to  forget  that  you're  a  stage  rob 
ber,  eh?"  He  reached  for  the  telephone.  "By  the  gods, 
McGraw,  I'll  take  a  chance  with  you  after  all.  I'm  going 
to  fight  you." 

Bob  McGraw  drew  a  large  envelope  from  his  pocket. 
"You  may  read  what  this  envelope  contains  while  waiting 
for  central  to  answer  your  call ' '  he  said  gently.  ' '  I  snipped 
the  wires  while  you  were  hiding  your  face  in  your  hands, 
wondering  what  you  were  going  to  do.  These  papers  are 
merely  a  few  affidavits,  proving  an  absolute  alibi  in  the 
matter  of  that  Garlock  robbery.  I  was  eating  frijoles  and 
flapjacks  with  three  prospectors  about  fifteen  miles  south 
of  Olancho  at  the  time  this  stage  was  held  up,  and  I  was 
in  Keeler  the  following  morning.  This  document  contains 
a  statement  of  the  most  amazing  case  of  circumstantial  evi 
dence  you  ever  heard  of.  Its  author  is  the  chief  of  Wells 
Fargo  &  Company's  detective  force.  He  hasn't  been  able 
to  discover  who  did  hold  up  that  stage — and  he  doesn't 
care  particularly,  but  a  perusal  of  his  letter  will  convince 
you  that  he  doesn't  think  I  did  it." 

"  Go  to  the  devil ! ' '  wailed  Carey. 

Bob  stood  up.  "I'm  going  now,  Carey.  Remember! 
You  are  to  steer  clear  of  my  business  with  the  state  land 
office  and  pull  out  of  Owens  valley.  If  you  break  faith 
with  me  in  word  or  act  and  I  find  it  out,  the  fat  will  be 
in  the  fire.  "When  I  judge  I'm  safe  I  will  fulfill  my  part 
of  this  contract." 

' '  Don 't  torture  me,  McGraw.  I  know  when  I  'm  whipped 
—and  I've  never  been  whipped  before." 

"I  do  not  want  to  torture  you,  Carey.  I  came  here  for 
justice,  not  vengeance.  Oliver  Corblay  didn't  ask  for  that, 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  305. 

and  besides,  I  have  queer  ideas  on  the  subject  of  punish 
ment  for  crime.  Crime,  Mr.  Carey,  is  a  great  deal  like 
our  other  human  ailments,  such  as  the  chicken-pox  and 
tonsilitis,  "We  must  bear  with  it  and  try  to  cure  it  by 
gentle  care  and  scientific  treatment.  Prison  cells  have 
never  cured  a  criminal,  and  it  would  only  pain  me  to  see 
you  behind  the  bars  in  your  old  age.  And  I  am  certain 
that  my  wife  would  not  rejoice  at  the  news  of  your  kang- 
ing." 

"I  suppose  money  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  celerity 
with  which  you  hasten  to  compound  a  felony,  eh?" 
sneered  Carey. 

"You  unfortunate  man!  Carey,  my  late  friend,  Mr. 
Hennage,  used  to  say  that  it  was  good  policy  to  overlook 
a  losing  bet  once  in  a  while,  rather  than  copper  everything 
in  sight.  Your  crime  was  a  terrible  mistake,  Carey.  For 
twenty  years  you've  realized  that  and  you've  suffered  for 
it.  I'm  sorry  for  you — so  sorry  that  I'm  going  to  use 
your  ill-gotten  gains  for  a  good  purpose.  Come  up  into 
Owens  valley  three  years  from  now  and  I  '11  prove  it  to  you. 
Good-day." 

"One  moment,  McGraw.  Don't  go  for  a  minute  or  two. 
I — I'd  like  to  believe  that  what  you  say  is  true,  but  the 
trouble  is — you  see,  McGraw,  I  have  never  encountered 
your  point  of  view  heretofore.  Tell  me,  McGraw — don't 
lie  to  me — do  you  feel  the  slightest  desire  to  see  me  suffer, 
or  is  this — er — brotherly-love  talk  of  yours  plain  bun 
combe?" 

Bob  McGraw  advanced  toward  the  man  he  had  beaten. 
He  held  out  his  hand.  "I  try  to  be  a  man"  he  said — "to 
be  too  big  to  hate  and  put  myself  on  a  level  with  a  brute. 
iWon't  you  shake  hands  with  me?" 

Carey  regarded  him  with  frank  curiosity. 

"Say"  he  said,  "are  you  religious?" 

"No.     Only  human." 

"Perhaps"  said  Carey  dubiously,  "but  it  doesn't  seeni 


3o6  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

possible  that  I  should  meet  two  white  men  in  this  nigge* 
world.  I  think  the  species  became  extinct  with  the  death 
of  my  friend  Hennage." 

"Your  friend—" 

"Why  not?  He  liked  me— I  know  he  did.  And  I  liked 
Mm.  I 'm  glad  he 's  dead — no,  I  'm  not — I  was  glad  an  hour 
ago,  but  I'm  sorry  now.  Had  he  lived  I  would  have  made 
of  him  my  friend,  for  he  was  the  only  human  being  I  have 
ever  met  that  I  could  trust  implicitly.  He  was  your  part 
ner  and  he  warned  me  to  keep  off.  He  meant  it,  and  I 
knew  he  meant  it — so  I  stayed  off.  Do  you  think,  McGraw, 
that  I  would  have  let  you  beat  me  out  of  that  land  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  Hennage?  I  didn't  dare  rush  those  se 
lections  through  for  patent  until  he  was  dead — and  then 
it  was  too  late.  Had  you  left  your  affairs  in  any  other 
hands  I  would  have  crushed  you,  but  Hennage  could  not 
be  bought.  I  didn't  even  try.  He  was  above  a  price." 

"Is  that  why  you  failed  to  act  immediately  after  yon 
became  convinced  that  I  was  an  outlaw  and  would  not 
dare  claim  the  land  when  it  should  be  granted  to  my 
clients?"  demanded  Bob. 

Carey  nodded.  "I  met  Hennage  in  Bakersfield,  and  he 
told  me  to  keep  my  hands  off  those  applications." 

"Then  he  bluffed  you,  Mr.  Carey.  Harley  P.  Hennage 
was  my  friend,  but  not  my  partner.  He  did  not  have  five 
cents  invested  in  my  scheme.  I  never  mentioned  it  to 
him,  and  neither  did  my  wife.  His  threat  was  a  bluff,  and 
where  he  got  his  information  of  my  land  deal  is  a  mys 
tery,  the  solution  of  which  perished  with  Harley  P." 

Carey  sat  in  his  chair,  with  his  head  bowed.  He  was 
clasping  and  unclasping  his  fingers  in  a  manner  pathetic 
ally  suggestive  of  helplessness. 

"I  don't  understand"  he  mumbled.  "He  told  me  to 
keep  off  and  I  kept  off."  He  sighed.  "I'd  have  given 
a  million  dollars  for  a  friend  like  him.  I — I — never — had 
— one. ' ' 

Bob  McGraw  drew  T.  Morgan  Carey 's  mortgage  from  his 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  307 

pocket,  scratched  a  match  on  his  trouser-leg  and  held  it 
under  the  fluttering  leaves.  Slowly  the  little  flame 
mounted,  and  when  it  threatened  to  scorch  his  fingers  the 
promoter  of  Donnaville  tossed  the  blazing  fragments  into 
a  convenient  cuspidor.  He  looked  up  and  saw  Carey  re 
garding  him  curiously. 

"That  was  your  mortgage"  the  land-grabber  said  won- 
deringly.  "You  have  burned  half  a  million  dollars." 

"I  was  selling  you  my  friendship — at  cut  rates,  Mr. 
Carey.  I  was  worthy  of  Hennage's  trust  and  friendship 
Until  a  few  minutes  ago.  Harley  P.  Hennage  never  did 
a  mean  or  a  cowardly  act,  and  to-day  I  used  my  power 
over  you  to  extort  half  a  million  dollars  from  you  to  fur 
ther  a  scheme  of  mine.  I  figured  that  the  end  justified 
the  means.  It  did  not,  and  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

Carey  smiled  wanly.  "It's  up-hill  work,  McGraw,  but 
111  forgive  you.  "What  great  scheme  is  this  of  yours  that 
caused  you  to  appear  unworthy  of  the  friend  who  was  so 
worthy  of  you?  I  have  a  great  curiosity  to  understand 
you.  Who  knows?  Perhaps  I  may  end  up  by  liking 
you?" 

And  then  Bob  McGraw  sat  down  by  his  enemy  and  un 
folded  to  him  his  dream  of  Donnaville. 

"Think  of  it,  Mr.  Carey"  he  pleaded.  "Think  what 
my  scheme  means  to  the  poor  devils  who  haven't  got  our 
brains  and  power!  Think  of  the  women  and  little  chil 
dren  toiling  in  sweat-shops ;  of  the  families  without  money, 
without  hope,  without  food  and  without  coal,  facing  the 
winter  in  such  cities  as  Chicago  and  New  York,  while  a 
barren  empire,  which  you  and  I  can  transform  to  an  Eden, 
waits  for  them  there  in  the  north,"  and  he  waved  his  arm 
toward  Donnaville. 

"There's  glory  enough  for  us  all,  Mr.  Carey.  "Won't 
you  come  in  with  me  and  play  the  big  game?  Be  my 
backer  in  this  enterprise  and  let  the  future  wipe  out  the 
mistakes  of  the  past.  You've  got  a  chance,  Carey.  What 
•*eed  have  you  for  money?  It's  only  a  game  you're  play- 


3o8  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

ing,  man — a  game  that  fascinates  you.  You've  sold  your 
manhood  for  money — and  you  have  never  had  a  friend! 
Good  God,  what  a  tragedy!  Come  with  me,  Carey,  into 
Owens  valley,  and  be  a  builder  of  empire.  Let  your  dead 
past  bury  itself  and  start  fresh  again.  You  are  not  a 
young  man  any  longer,  and  in  all  your  busy  life  you  have 
accomplished  nothing  of  benefit  to  the  world.  You  have 
subscribed  to  charities,  and  then  robbed  the  objects  of  your 
charity  of  the  land  that  would  have  made  them  independent 
of  you.  Think  of  the  good  you  can  do  with  the  proceeds 
of  the  evil  you  have  done!  Ah,  Carey,  Carey!  There's 
so  much  fun  in  just  living,  and  I'm  afraid  you've  never 
been  young.  You've  never  dreamed!  And  you've  never 
had  a  friend  that  loved  you  for  what  you  were.  Do  you 
know  why,  Carey?  Because  you  weren't  worth  loving. 
You  have  received  from  the  world  to  date  just  what  you 
put  into  it — envy  and  greed  and  hate  and  malice  and 
selfishness,  and  at  your  passing  the  curses  of  your  people 
Will  be  your  portion.  Come  with  me  and  be  a  Pagan,  my 
friend,  and  when  you  have  finished  the  job  I'll  guarantee 
to  plant  you  up  on  the  slope  of  Kearsarge,  where  your 
soul,  as  it  mounts  to  the  God  of  a  Square  Deal,  can  look 
down  on  the  valley  that  you  have  prepared  for  a  happy 
people,  and  say:  'That  is  mine.  I  helped  create  it,  and 
I  did  it  for  love.  I  finished  what  the  Almighty  com 
menced,  and  the  job  was  worth  while.'  Will  you  play  the 
game  with  me,  T.  Morgan  Carey,  and  get  some  joy  out  of 
life?" 

The  land-grabber — the  parasite  who  had  lived  only  to 
destroy — looked  up  at  Bob  McGraw. 

"Would  you  trust  me?"  he  queried  huskily. 

"I  burned  your  mortgage"  said  Bob  smiling. 

"I'll  think  it  over — friend"  Carey  replied.  "I  never 
do  things  in  a  hurry.  It's  a  habit  I  have,  and  I  don't 
quite  understand  you.  I  must  think  it  over." 

"Do,  Mr.  Carey.  And  now  I  must  toddle  along. 
Adios." 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  309 

Carey  shook  his  hand,  and  they  parted. 

Our  story  is  told. 

San  Pasqual  is  still  a  frontier  town — a  little  drearier, 
a  little  shabbier  and  more  down  at  the  heel  than  when  we 
saw  it  first.  There  have  been  few  changes — the  few  that 
have  occurred  having  arrived  unheralded  and  hence  have 
remained  undiscovered.  For  instance,  it  is  not  generally 
known  that  Mrs.  Pennycook  has  lost  control  of  her  hus 
band.  Yet,  such  is  the  fact.  She  is  still  a  great  stickler 
for  principle,  but  she  trembles  if  her  husband  looks  at  her. 
It  appears  that  Dan  Pennycook 's  half-hearted  accusation 
of  Miss  Pickett  as  the  author  of  the  anonymous  note  found 
on  the  body  of  Borax  O'Rourke  preyed  on  the  spinster's 
mind,  and  when  Bob  McGraw  started  an  investigation  she 
could  stand  the  strain  no  longer.  She  fled  in  terror  to  the 
Pennycook  home  and  made  certain  demands  upon  Mrs. 
Pennycook;  who  took  refuge  in  her  well-known  reputation 
for  probity  and  principle  and  informed  Miss  Pickett  that 
phe  was  "actin'  crazy  like";  whereupon  Miss  Pickett 
sought  Dan  Pennycook  and  hysterically  confessed  to  the 
authorship  of  that  fatal  anonymous  note,  alleging  as  ex 
tenuating  circumstances  that  she  had  been  aided  and 
abetted  therein  by  Mrs.  Pennycook.  To  quote  a  common 
place  saying,  Mrs.  Pennycook  had  made  the  ball  and  Miss 
Piekett  fired  it.  She  begged  Dan  Pennycook  to  use  his 
influence  with  Donna  to  have  the  investigation  quashed, 
else  would  Miss  Pickett  make  a  public  confession  and  dis 
grace  the  name  of  Pennycook. 

Hence,  when  Mr.  Pennycook  appeared  at  the  Hat  Ranch 
and  asked  Donna  to  request  her  husband  to  forget  about 
that  anonymous  letter,  Donna  guessed  the  honest  fellow's 
distress  and  accordingly  the  matter  was  forgotten  by  every 
body — except  Dan  Pennycook.  He  has  not  forgotten.  He 
remembers  every  time  he  looks  at  Mr.  Hennage's  watch. 
He  has  never  said  anything  to  Mrs.  Pennycook — which 
\nakes  it  all  the  harder  for  her — but  contents  himself  with 


310  THE  LONG  CHANCE 

a  queer  look  at  the  lady  when  she  becomes  "obstreperous 
like" — and  that  suffices.  After  all,  she  is  the  mother  of 
his  children,  and  God  has  blessed  him  with  more  heart  than 
head. 

Miss  Pickett  is  no  longer  the  postmistress;  also  she  is 
no  longer  Miss  Pickett,  although  in  this  respect  she  is  not 
unlike  a  politician  who  has  all  the  emoluments  of  office 
without  the  honors,  or  vice  versa  if  you  will.  In  her 
forty-third  year  she  married  the  only  man  who  ever  asked 
her — and  he  was  a  youth  of  twenty-five  who  suspected 
Miss  Pickett  of  a  savings  account.  She  resigned  from  the 
post-office  to  marry  him,  and  San  Pasqual  took  a  night  off 
to  give  her  a  charivari.  Two  weeks  after  the  ceremony 
Miss  Pickett 's  husband,  despairing  of  the  savings,  jumped 
a  south-bound  freight  and  was  seen  no  more.  Her  triumph 
over  the  acquisition  of  the  "Mrs."  was  so  shortlived,  and 
the  San  Pasqualians  found  it  so  difficult  to  rid  themselves 
of  the  habit  of  calling  her  Miss  Pickett,  that  Miss  Pickett 
ehe  remains  to  this  very  day. 

The  Hat  Ranch  still  stands  in  the  desert  below  San  Pas 
qual.  Bob  McGraw  has  secured  title  to  it,  and  safe  within 
the  old  adobe  walls  Sam  Singer  and  Soft  Wind  are  round 
ing  out  their  placid  lives.  Sam  Singer  is  now  one  of  the 
solid  citizens  of  San  Pasqual.  He  has  succeeded  to  the 
hat  business,  and  moreover  he  has  money  on  deposit  with 
Bob  McGraw.  It  appears  that  Sam  Singer,  in  accordance 
with  Mr.  Hennage's  dying  request,  fell  heir  to  the  gam 
bler's  new  gaiters.  The  first  time  he  tried  them  on  Sam 
detected  a  slight  obstruction  in  the  toe  of  the  right  gaiter. 
He  removed  this  obstruction  and  discovered  that  it  was  a 
piece  of  paper  money.  Like  all  Indians,  Sam  was  sus 
picious  of  paper  money,  so  he  took  it  to  Bob  McGraw,  who 
gave  him  a  thousand  dollars  for  it.  Sam  Singer  was  well 
pleased  thereat.  He  considered  he  had  driven  an  excellent 
bargain. 

In  the  lonely  sage-covered  wind-swept  cemetery  at  San 
PasQual  there  rises  a  black  granite  monument,  severely 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  311 

plain,  eminently  befitting  one  who  was  not  of  the  pre 
suming  kind.  There  is  an  epitaph  on  that  monument 
which  is  worth  recording  here: 

WHO  SEEKS  FOR  HEAVEN  ALONE  TO  SAVE  HIS  SOUL, 
MAY  KEEP  THE  PATH  BUT  WILL  NOT  REACH  THE  GOAL; 
WHILE   HE   WHO   WALKS   IN   LOVE   MAY    WANDER   FAR 
YET   GOD   WILL   BRING   HIM    WHERE   THE   BLESSED   ARE. 
BENEATH    THIS    STONE 
HARLEY  P.  HENNAGE 
RESTS   FROM    HIS   WANDERINGS. 

One  day  T.  Morgan  Carey  dropped  off  the  north-bound 
train  at  San  Pasqual,  and  learning  that  he  had  two  hours 
to  waste  while  waiting  for  the  stage  to  start  up  country, 
he  was  seized  with  a  morbid  desire  to  wander  through  San 
Pasqual 's  queer  cemetery.  The  only  monument  in  the 
cemetery  attracted  his  attention,  and  presently  he  found 
himself  standing  at  the  foot  of  Mr.  Hennage  's  grave,  read 
ing  the  epitaph.  It  impressed  him  so  greatly  that  her 
copied  the  verse  in  a  little  morocco-covered  memorandum 
book. 

"I  wonder  who  was  the  genius  that  evolved  that  verse?" 
he  muttered  aloud,  and  to  his  great  surprise  a  voice  at 
his  side  answered  him.  It  was  a  woman's  voice. 

"I  do  not  know  the  author"  she  said,  "but  if  you  will 
read  Henry  Van  Dyke's  book  'The  Other  Wise  Man,'  you 
will  find  that  little  verse  on  the  fly-leaf.  Perhaps  Van 
Dyke  wrote  it.  I  do  not  know." 

T.  Morgan  Carey  turned  and  lifted  his  hat.  "Thank 
you,  madam"  he  said.  "I  was  particularly  interested. 
I  had  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Hennage,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  lines  were  peculiarly  appropriate." 

"My  husband  and  I  thought  so.  And  if  you  will  par 
don  me  for  suggesting  it,  Mr.  Carey,  it  would  be — better 
if  you  would  please  leave  the  cemetery.  An  old  enemy  of 
yours,  a  Cahuilla  Indian,  comes  here  three  times  a 


THE  LONG  CHANCE 

by  my  orders,  to  bring  water  for  the  blue  grass  on  this 
grave.     He  is  coming  now." 

"Thank  you.    And  you  are — " 

"I  am  Donna  Corblay." 

Carey  bowed  and  continued. 

"Your  husband  told  me  once  that  he  had  some  great 
plans  afoot,  and  did  me  the  honor  to  ask  me  to  help  him — " 
he  paused,  watching  her  wistfully —  "and  I  want  to  know 
if  you  object  to  me  as  an  associate  of  your  husband  in  his 
work." 

Donna  looked  at  him  gravely.  "I  have  neither  bitter 
ness  nor  revengeful  feeling  against  you,  Mr.  Carey"  she 
replied. 

"I  have  suffered"  he  said,  "but  I  haven't  paid  all  of 
the  price.  Tell  your  husband  that  I  want  to  help  him.  I 
have  thought  it  over  and  I  was  coming  to  tell  him  myself. 
Tell  him,  please,  that  I  would  appreciate  the  privilege  of 
being  a  minority  stockholder  in  his  enterprise  and  I  will 
honor  his  sight  drafts  while  I  have  a  dollar  left. ' ' 

He  lifted  his  hat  and  walked  away,  and  Donna,  gazing 
after  him,  realized  that  the  past  was  dead  and  only  the 
future  remained.  Carey's  crime  had  been  a  sordid  one, 
but  with  her  broader  vision  Donna  saw  that  the  lives  of 
the  few  must  ever  be  counted  as  paltry  sacrifices  in  the 
advancement  of  the  race.  Her  father,  her  mother,  Harley 
P.  Hennage,  Borax  O'Rourke  and  the  long,  sad,  barren 
years  of  her  own  girlhood  had  all  been  sacrifices  to  this 
man's  insatiable  greed  and  lust  for  power,  and  now  that 
the  finish  was  reached  she  realized  the  truth  of  Bob  Me-> 
Graw's  philosophy — that  out  of  all  great  evils  great  good 
must  come. 

Truly  selfishness,  greed,  revenge  and  inhumanity  are 
but  the  burdens  of  a  day;  all  that  is  small  and  weak  and 
unworthy  may  not  survive,  while  that  which  is  great  and 
good  in  a  man  m«st  some  day  break  its  hobbles  and  sweep 
him  on  to  the  fulfillment  of  his  destiny.  She  saw  her 
Uusband  and  his  one-time  enemy  toiling  side  by  side  in  thi 


THE  LONG  CHANCE  313 

great,  hot,  hungry  heart  of  Inyo,  preparing  homes  for  the 
helpless  and  the  oppressed — working  out  the  destinies  of 
their  people;  and  she  cried  out  with  the  happiness  that 
was  hers. 

Ah,  yes,  they  had  all  suffered,  but  now  out  of  the  dregs 
of  their  suffering  the  glad  years  would  come  bearing  their 
precious  burden  of  love  and  service.  How  puerile  did  the 
sacrifices  of  the  past  seem  now — how  terribly  out  of  pro 
portion  to  the  great  task  that  lay  before  them,  with  the 
sublime  result  already  in  sight!  Surely  there  was  only 
one  quality  in  humankind  that  really  mattered,  softening 
suffering  and  despair  and  turning  away  wrath,  and  as 
Donna  knelt  by  the  grave  of  the  man  who  had  possessed 
that  quality  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  considered  his 
life  cheap  as  a  means  of  expressing  it,  she  prayed  that 
her  infant  son  might  be  endowed  with  the  virtues  and 
brains  of  his  father  and  the  wanderer  who  slept  beneath 
the  stone: 

"Dear  God,  help  me  to  raise  a  Man  and  teach  him  to  be 
kind." 


THE  ENS' 


There  s  More  to  Follow! 

More  stories  of  the  sort  you  like; 
more,  probably,  by  the  author  of  this 
one;  more  than  500  titles  all  told  by 
writers  of  world-wide  reputation,  in 
the  Authors'  Alphabetical  List  which 
you  will  find  on  the  reverse  side  of  the 
wrapper  of  this  book.  Look  it  over 
before  you  lay  it  aside.  There  are 
books  here  you  are  sure  to  want — some, 
possibly,  that  you  have  always  wanted. 

It  is  a  selected  list;  every  book  in  it 
has  achieved  a  certain  measure  of 
success. 

The  Grosset  &  Dunlap  list  is  not  only 
the  greatest  Index  of  Good  Fiction 
available,  it  represents  in  addition  a 
generally  accepted  Standard  of  Value. 
It  will  pay  you  to 

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PETER  B.  KYNE'S  NOVELS 

Hay  be  had  wlwever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap't  list 

THE  PRIDE  OF  PALOMAR 

When  two  strong  men  clash  and  the  under-dog  has  Irish 
blood  in  his  veins — there's  a  tale  that  Kyne  can  telll  And 
"  the  girl "  is  also  very  much  in  evidence. 

KINDRED  OF  THE  DUST 

Donald  McKay,  son  of  Hector  McKay,  millionaire  lum 
ber  king,  falls  in  love  with  "  Nan  of  the  Sawdust  Pile,"  a 
charming  girl  who  has  been  ostracized  by  her  townsfolk. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  GIANTS 

The  fight  of  the  Cardigans,  father  and  son,  to  hold  the 
Valley  of  the  Giants  against  treachery.  The  reader  finishes 
with  a  sense  of  having  lived  with  big  men  and  women  in  a 
big  country. 

GAPPY  RICKS 

The  story  of  old  Gappy  Ricks  and  of  Matt  Peasley,  the 
boy  he  tried  to  break  because  he  knew  the  acid  test  was 
good  for  his  soul. 

WEBSTER:  MAN'S  MAN 

In  a  little  Jim  Crow  Republic  in  Central  America,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  hailing  from  the  "  States,"  met  up  with  a 
revolution  and  for  a  while  adventures  and  excitement  came 
so  thick  and  fast  that  their  love  affair  had  to  wait  for  a  lull 
in  the  game. 

CAPTAIN  SCRAGGS 

This  sea  yarn  recounts  the  adventures  of  three  rapscal 
lion  sea-faring  men — a  Captain  Scraggs,  owner  of  the  green 
vegetable  freighter  Maggie,  Gibney  the  mate  and  McGuff- 
ney  the  engineer. 

THE  LONG  CHANCE 

A  story  fresh  from  the  heart  of  the  West,  of  San  Pasqual, 
a  sun-baked  desert  town,  of  Harley  P.  Hennage,  the  best 
gambler,  the  best  and  worst  man  of  San  Pasqual  and  of 
lovely  Donna. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


JAMES   OLIVER  CURWOOD'S 

STORIES  OF  ADVENTURE 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Srossat  &  Dunlap's  list. 

THE  RIVER'S  END~ 

A  story  of  the  Royal  Mounted  Police. 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Thrilling  adventures  in  the  Far  Northland. 
NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  a  bear-cub  and  a  dog. 
KAZAN 

The  tale  of  a  "quarter-strain  wolf  and  three-quarters  husky"  torn 
between  the  call  of  the  human  and  his  wild  mate. 

BAREE,  SON  OF  KAZAN 

The  story  of  the  son  of  the  blind  Grey  Wolf  and  the  gallant  part 
he  played  in  the  lives  of  a  man  and  a  woman. 

THE  COURAGE  OF  CAPTAIN  PLUM 

The  story  of  the  King  of  Beaver  Island,  a  Mormon  colony,  and  his 
battle  with  Captain  Plum. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL 

A  tale  of  love,  Indian  vengeance,  and  a  mystery  of  the  North. 
THE  HUNTED  WOMAN 

A  tale  of  a  great  fight  in  the  "  valley  of  gold"  for  a  woman. 
THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  NORTH 

The  story  of  Fort  o'  God,  where  the  wild  flavor  of  the  wilderness 
is  blended  with  the  courtly  atmosphere  of  France. 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  big  grizzly. 
ISOBEL 

A  love  story  of  the  Far  North. 
THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  thrilling  tale  of  adventure  in  the  Canadian  wilderness. 
THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

The  story  of  adventure  in  the  Hudson  Bay  wilds. 
THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE 

Filled  with  exciting  incidents  in  the  land  of  strong  men  and  women. 
BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

A  thrilling  story  of  the  Far  North.  The  great  Photoplay  was  made 
from  this  book. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


EDGAR  RICE  BURROUGHS 
NOVELS 

May  be  had  wheraver  booKs  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grossat  &  Dunlap't  list. 

TARZAN  THE  UNTAMED 

Tells  of  Tarzan's  return  to  the  life  of  the  ape-man  in 
his  search  for  vengeance  on  those  who  took  from  him  his 
wife  and  home. 

JUNGLE  TALES  OF  TARZAN 

Records  the  many  wonderful  exploits  by  which  Tarzan 
proves  his  right  to  ape  kingship. 

A  PRINCESS  OF  MARS 

Forty-three  million  miles  from  the  earth — a  succession 
of  the  weirdest  and  most  astounding  adventures  in  fiction. 
John  Carter,  American,  finds  himself  on  the  planet  Mars, 
battling  for  a  beautiful  woman,  with  the  Green  Men  of 
Mars,  terrible  creatures  fifteen  feet  high,  mounted  on 
horses  like  dragons. 

THE  GODS  OF  MARS 

Continuing  John  Carter's  adventures  on  the  Planet  Mars, 
in  which  he  does  battle  against  the  ferocious  "plant  men," 
creatures  whose  mighty  tails  swished  their  victims  to  instant 
death,  and  defies  Issus,  the  terrible  Goddess  of  Death, 
whom  all  Mars  worships  and  reveres. 

THE  WARLORD  OF  MARS 

Old  acquaintances,  made  in  the  two  other  stories,  reap 
pear,  Tars  Tarkas,  Tardos  Mors  and  others.  There  is  a 
happy  ending  to  the  story  in  the  union  of  the  Warlord, 
the  title  conferred  upon  John  Carter,  with  Dejah  Thoris. 

THUVIA,  MAID  OF  MARS 

The  fourth  volume  of  the  series.  The  story  centers 
around  the  adventures  of  Carthoris,  the_son  of  John  Car 
ter  and  Thuvia,  daughter  of  a  Martian  Emperor. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP.  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

May  ba  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grossst  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  FOREST 
THE  DESERT  OF  WHEAT 
THE  U.  P.  TRAIL 
WILDFIRE 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 
THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 
RIDERS   OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 
THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 
THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER. 
DESERT  GOLD 
BETTY  ZANE 

»*****» 
LAST  OF  THE  GREAT  SCOUTS 

The  life  story  of  "Buffalo  Bill"  by  his  sister  Helen  Cody 
Wetmore,  with  Foreword  and  conclusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

ZANE  GREY'S  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

KEN  WARD  IN  THE  JUNGLE 
THE  YOUNG  LION  HUNTER 
THE  YOUNG  FORESTER 
THE  YOUNG  PITCHER 
THE  SHORT  STOP 

THE  RED-HEADED  OUTFIELD  AND  OTHER 
BASEBALL  STORIES 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


KATHLEEN    NORRIS'  STORIES 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.        Ask  for  Grasset  &  Dunlap's  list 

SISTERS.   Frontispiece  by  Frank  Street. 

The  California  Redwoods  furnish  the  background  for  this 
beautiful  story  of  sisterly  devotion  and  sacrifice. 

POOR,  DEAR.  MARGARET  KIRBY. 
Frontispiece  by  George  Gibbs. 

A  collection  of  delightful  stories,  including  "Bridging  the 
Years"  and  "The  Tide-Marsh."  This  story  is  now  shown  in 
moving  pictures. 

JOSSELYN'S  WIFE.  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

The  story  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  fought  a  bitter  fight  for 
happiness  and  love. 

MARTIE.  THE  UNCONQUERED. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 
The  triumph  of  a  dauntless  spirit  over  adverse  conditions. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 
Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

An  interesting  story  of  divorce  and  the  problems  that  come 
with  a  second  marriage. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE. 

Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

JI^A  sympathetic  portrayal  of  the  quest  of  a  normal  girl,  obscure 

and  lonely,  for  the  happiness  of  life. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD.    Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Cootes. 

Can  a  girl,  born  in  rather  sordid  conditions,  lift  herself  through 
sheer  determination  to  the  better  things  for  which  her  soul 
hungered  ? 

MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

A  story  of  the  big  mother  heart  that  beats  in  the  background 
of  every  girl's  life,  and  some  dreams  which  came  true. 

Ask  f°r  Complete  free   list  of  G.    &  D.    Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


BOOTH     TARKINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

'        Hay  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.    Askjfer  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

SEVENTEEN.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  but  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.  Its  humor  is  irre 
sistible  and  reminiscent  of  the  tune  when  the  reader  was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    Illustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu 
morous,  tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
stories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re 
volts  against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love_of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  life  in  Indiana,  but  .the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

THE  FLIRT.    Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Flirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl's 
engagement,  drives  one  man  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  in  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

Atk  for  Complete  free  list  of  C.   &  D.   Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


FLORENCE   L.  BARCLAY'S 
NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  WHITE  LADIES  OF  WORCESTER 

A  novel  of  the  12th  Century.  The  heroine,  believing  she 
had  lost  her  lover,  enters  a  convent.  He  returns,  and  in 
teresting  developments  follow. 

THE  UPAS  TREE 

A  love  story  of  rare  charm.  It  deals  with  a  successful 
author  and  his  wife. 

THROUGH  THE  POSTERN  GATE 

The  story  of  a  seven  day  courtship,  in  which  the  dis 
crepancy  in  ages  vanished  into  insignificance  before  the 
convincing  demonstration  of  abiding  love, 

THE  ROSARY 

The  story  of  a  young  artist  who  is  reputed  to  love  beauty 
above  all  else  in  the  world,  but  who,  when  blinded  through 
an  accident,  gains  life's  greatest  happiness.  A  rare  story 
of  the  great  passion  of  two  real  people  superbly  capable  of 
love,  its  sacrifices  and  its  exceeding  reward. 

THE  MISTRESS  OF  SHENSTONE 

The  lovely  young  Lady  Ingleby,  recently  widowed  by  the 
death  of  a  husband  who  never  understood  her,  meets  a  fine, 
clean  young  chap  who  is  ignorant  of  her  title  and  they  fall 
deeply  in  love  with  each  other.  When  he  learns  her  real 
identity  a  situation  of  singular  power  is  developed. 

THE  BROKEN  HALO 

The  story  of  a  young  man  whose  religious  belief  was 
shattered  in  childhood  and  restored  to  him  by  the  little 
white  lady,  many  years  older  than  himself,  to  whom  he  is 
passionately  devoted. 

THE  FOLLOWING  OF  THE  STAR 

The  story  of  a  young  missionary,  who,  about  to  start  for 
Africa,  marries  wealthy  Diana  Rivers,  in  order  to  help  her 
fulfill  the  conditions  of  her  uncle's  will,  and  how  they  finally 
come  to  love  each  other  and  are  reunited  after  experiences 
that  soften  and  purify. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


ETHEL    M.    DELL'S    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  LAMP  IN  THE  DESERT 

The  scene  of  this  splendid  story  is  laid  in  India  ana 
tells  of  the  lamp  of  love  that  continues  to  shine  through 
all  sorts  of  tribulations  to  final  happiness. 

GREATHEART 

The  story  of  a  cripple  whose  deformed  body  conceals 
a  noble  soul. 

THE  HUNDREDTH  CHANCE 

A  hero  who  worked  to  win  even  when  there  was  only 
*'  a  hundredth  chance." 

THE  SWINDLER 

The  story  of  a  "bad  man's"  soul  revealed  by  a 
woman's  faith. 

THE  TIDAL  WAVE 

Tales  of  love  and  of  women  who  learned  to  know  the 
true  from  the  false. 

THE   SAFETY  CURTAIN 

A  very  vivid  love  story  of  India.  The  volume  also 
contains  four  other  long  stories  of  equal  interest. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


ELEANOR  H.  PORTERS  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.        Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

JUST  DAVID 

The  tale  of  a  loveable  boy  and  the  place  he  comes  to 
fill  in  the  hearts  of  the  gruff  farmer  folk  to  whose  care  he 
is  left. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

A  compelling  romance  of  love  and  marriage. 
OH,  MONEY  !   MONEY  ! 

Stanley  Fulton,  a  wealthy  bachelor,  to  test  the  disposi 
tions  of  his  relatives,  sends  them  each  a  check  for  $100,- 
000,  and  then  as  plain  John  Smith  comes  among  them  to 
watch  the  result  of  his  experiment. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH 

A  wholesome  story  of  a  club  of  six  girls  and  their  sum 
mer  on  Six  Star  Ranch. 

DAWN 

The  story  of  a  blind  boy  whose  courage  leads  him 
through  the  gulf  of  despair  into  a  final  victory  gained  by 
dedicating  his  life  to  the  service  of  blind  soldiers. 

ACROSS  THE  YEARS 

Short  stories  of  our  own  kind  and  of  our  own  people. 
Contains  some  of  the  best  writing  Mrs.  Porter  has  done. 

THE  TANGLED  THREADS 

In  these  stories  we  find  the  concentrated  charm  and 
tenderness  of  all  her  other  books. 

THE  TIE  THAT  BINDS 

Intensely  ^uman  stories  told  with  Mrs.  Porter's  won 
derful  talent  for  warm  and  vivid  character  drawing. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


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